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The  Household  Library, No.  3,  Vol.  7,  April  16.1890^  -Annual  subscription  $26.00.      IssuedWeekJy 


Babe  Murphy 


BY 

PATIENCE  STAPLETON. 

AUTHOR  OF    "KADY." 


CHICAGO: 
BELFORD-CLARKE  00. 

1890. 


1890. 
COPYRIGHT  BY 

BELFORD-CLARKE  CO. 

All  Rights  Reserved 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I  I  Receive  My  Legacy    and    Resolve   to    go    a 

Junketing 5 

II      Mr.  Beach  is  very  Polite 11 

III  Babe  Murphy  to  the  Rescue 20 

IV  Babe  Murphy  Thinks  I'm  "A  Good  Sam-Some- 

thing"     29 

V      Mr.  Beach  Airs  His  Sentiments  Freely 41 

VI      Babe  Murphy  Holds  Her  Own    56 

VII      We  Make  a  Discovery  in  the  Wood 66 

VIII      A  Visit  from  Mrs.  Beach  and  Tom 76 

IX      Mrs.  Beach  is  a  Conundrum 85 

X      A  Mountain  Picnic 94 

XI      "Sweet  is  True  Love" Ill 

XII      Babe  Pleads  with  Her  Father 128 

XIII  ' '  King  Arthur  Needs  a  Modred  " , 135 

XIV  Mr.  Beach  Sorely  Smitten 143 

XV      A  Tragedy 151 

XVI      Weary  of  the  Mountain  Walls 163 

XVII      Dick  Daggett  Talks 173 

XVIII      Clara  and  Con 186 

XIX      The  Death  of  Con 196 

XX      The  Colonel  Expects  Company 211 

XXI      A  Looker-on  in  Vienna 223 

XXII      Mr.  Beach's  Gratitude 240 

XXIII  Mrs.  Ballinger's  Baby     251 

XXIV  A  Falsehood  for  Love. 261 

XXV      Pathsof  Peace '. 270 


M2G2-9&S 


BABE  MURPHY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I     KECEIVE    MY     LEGACY    AND     KES0LVE    TO     GO     A 
JUNKETING. 

It  seemed  to  me  when  brother  Nathan  died  and  left 
me  $3,000  that  all  at  once  I  knew  what  it  was  to  be 
•rich  and  to  feel  like  Vanderbilt.  Nathan  had  never 
married,  and  had  divided  what  he  earned  by  tailoring, 
between  his  landlady  and  me.  She,  that  wrote  me  of 
Nathan's  death,  and  hoped  I  wouldn't  go  into  lawing, 
for  if  I'd  any  idea  what  Nathan's  disposition  was, 
I'd  know  she  earned  it.  She  was  a  widow  with  a 
John  Rodgersy  sort  of  family,  nine  children  like  I 
used  to  read  about  in  the  primer,  bnt  her's  were  older. 
I  knew  what  she  looked  like  pretty  well,  without  ever 
seeing  her — thin  and  wrinkled,  with  red  eyes,  large  and 
bony  hands  and  faded  black  gowns.  ' Oly  dear  woman," 
I  wrote  to  her,  "you  are  welcome  to  half;  you  deserved 
the  whole,  for  Nathan  Wilder  was  all  Sproul,  taking- 
after  mother's  side  of  the  family,  and  not  a  mite  like  the 
Wilders.  He  must  have  been  a  trial,  and  dear  me,  him 
and  me  haven't  spoken  to  each  other  for  twenty  years, 
nor  writ  aline."  She  wrote  back  to  me,  "  Could  she?  " — 
and  meant  she  would,  too — keep  my  precious  letter  to 
show  folks,  as  some  had  been  low  down  enough  to  say, 

5 


G  BABE  MU11PI1Y. 

and  such  of  her  neighbors,  indeed,  whose  white  com- 
plexions and  cnypped  hair  might  mean  they  had  been  in 
the  law's  clutches,  not  that  she'd  mention  names  nor 
jails,  but  they  had  insinuated  she  had  coaxed  and 
wheedled  Nathan  Wilder,  whereas  she  had  treated  him 
as  a  Christian  woman  should." 

I  answered  in  a  spirit  of  levity,  my  fun  not  quite  ex- 
tinct in  my  bleak  life:  "  As  long  as  there  could  be 
nothing  said  against  Nathan's  morals  or  hers,  etc.  (and 
I  willfully  put  etc.,  to  aggravate  her  to  frenzy  regarding 
my  meaning),  I  thought  it  all  right.  My  reply  to  this 
was  a  solemn  document  from  a  parson  in  Boston,  certi- 
fying the  high  character,  as  Christian  and  woman,  of 
Mrs.  Joseph  Hart/' 

Well,  enough  of  that.  I  got  my  legacy  the  first  of 
June,  and,  as  I  locked  the  schoolhouse  door  for  the  last 
time,  the  little  place  where,  off  and  on,  I  had  taught  for 
thirty  years,  I  would  not  have  been  human  if  I  did 
not  feel  a  tugging  at  my  heart-strings.  I  watched  the 
children  run  homeward  on  the  familiar  road,  the  river, 
winding  through  the  trees,  and  I  pondered  over  the 
long  buried  hopes  that  had  come  to  life  again.  I  knew 
one  old  soul,  at  rest  these  long  years  in  the  shady, 
neglected  graveyard  at  Southport,  whose  only  ambition 
was  to  see  the  world.  "No  heaven  for  me,  sir,  nor 
everlasting  glory,"  she  said  to  the  minister,  on  her  death 
bed,  "I've  never  been  outer  Southport  all  my  days,  an' 
now  I'm  free  of  airth,  I'm  goin'  to  travel.  I  don't 
wanter  to  be  shet  up  in  no  place."  That  was  what  I 
said  now.  Oh,  hateful  burden  of  peaceful  hills,  of 
placid  river,  of  homely  duties  to  my  recent  dead  father 


/  RECEIVE  MY  LEG  A  CY.  7 

and  mother,  of  bare  bread-getting.  My  cage  is  opened 
with  a  key  of  gold,  and  I,  Lydia  Ann  Wilder,  fifty 
years  old,  am  going  a  junketing.  I  looked  that  word  up, 
and  I  see  though  we  use  it  for  traveling  down  a  long 
shore,  it  means  a  private  feast  or  entertainment.  Well, 
that  is  just  what  I  expect  to  get.  I  mean  to  feast  my 
soul  on  other  scenes  and  folks.  When  I  was  a  child  and 
desired  to  go  along  the  dusty  road  outside  our  stone  wall, 
I  was  sternly  called  home  and  forbid  to  go  a  trapesing — 
a  word  also  a  Southport  phrase,  now  I  had  no  one  to 
call  me  back,  and  means  to  go,  and  a  trapesing  I  would 

go- 
Yet,  it  seemed  like  a  dream  when  I  was  fairly  off ,  after 

renting  my  house  to  Captain  Stinson  and  his  wife,  who 
promised  to  look  after  things,  and  she's  a  tidy  woman 
and  good  housekeeper.  But  here  I  was  at  last,  in  a 
decent  black  gown  on  my  small  body,  a  neat  shawl  and 
bonnet,  and  a  carpet  bag — had  been  father's — as  big  as 
I  could  lug.  My  horse-hair  trunk  was  along,  too,  and 
when  there  was  time,  and  it  was  possible,  I  got  out  at 
stations  and  peeked  in  the  baggage  car  to  see  it  was  all 
right.  Where  was  I  going?  Oh,  to  Denver  'way  out  in 
Colorado.  One  of  our  neighbor's  boys  had  been  there, 
Mrs.  Somses'  John,  and  he  did  well  and  talked  of  noth- 
ing else  when  he  was  home  on  a  visit,  especially  about 
the  climate.  I  says  to  myself,  I've  been  "froze up"  for 
forty-nine  winters,  as  the  Indians  say,  and  I'll  try  a  spell 
of  warmer  weather.  I  had  half  a  mind  for  California, 
but  he  said  Denver  was  a  great  place  for  women,  and 
they  were  well  treated  there,  particularly  in  the  mount- 
ain towns.     I  ain't  a  bad  looking  woman,  for  our  folks 


8  BABE  MURPHY. 

is  fresh  complected  and  have  good  features,  and  my  light 
hair  is  hardly  gray.  Then,  as  this  is  a  true  story,  I 
might  as  well  tell  just  what  I  did  think,  I  might  have 
had  some  sort  of  a  hope  Fd  fall  in  with  a  middle-aged 
man  not  more  averse  to  matrimony  than  I  was.  And  I 
do  wonder  if  a  woman  ever  outgrows  the  idea  of  getting 
married  until  she  is  most  a  hundred. 

There  was  a  pretty  crowded  train  from  Chicago  to 
Denver,  but  I  took  a  ticket  for  the  palace  car.  I  just 
wanted  to  feel  rich  for  once.  Fve  pinched  so  all  my 
life  I  have  lost  the  faculty  of  enjoying  spending  money. 
The  first  day  out  I  surveyed  the  male  person  who  was 
to  climb  in  the  bunk  over  me.  Just  here  I  do  want 
to  protest  against  the  uncomfortableness  of  sleeping  cars 
to  women  like  myself.  I  can  stand  other  women  keeping 
the  dressing  room  for  hours  Vay  beyond  their  needs, 
I  know  their  natures  so  well,  and  I  can  get  along  with 
bay  rum  to  wash  my  face,  and  my  hair  curls  naturally, 
if  theirs  don't;  but  the  spectacle  of  a  great,  live  man,  in 
his  stocking  feet,  clambering  over  my  head  and  groan- 
ing and  tossing  and  coming  down  unexpected  in  the 
morning,  will  always  send  a  cold  chill  along  my  spine. 

I  knew  by  experience  that  the  person  riding  facing  me, 
his  back  to  the  engine,  was  the  one  to  climb  over  my  head, 
so  I  took  a  good  long  look  at  this  latest  one.  He  was  tall 
and  bony,  clean-shaved,  except  a  pair  of  thin  side 
whiskers.  He  had  cold,  blue  eyes,  a  sort  of  sickly,  white 
complexion,  thin,  unpleasant  lips,  and  I  don't  know 
why,  but  I  kept  noticing  his  white  hands  with  their 
large  jointed  fingers,  and  wondering  if  he  used  to  crack 
'em  when  he  was  a  boy,  like   my  scholars   did.      His 


J  RECEIVE  M  Y  LEGACY.  9 

clothes  were  dull- colored  but  fine  material,  and  his 
watch  chain  solid  but  neat,  just  as  spic  and  span  he  was 
as  if  he'd  been  kept  in  a  band  box.  After  a  few  mo- 
ments he  drew  out  a  black  silk  scull  cap,  put  it  on  his 
thin  gray  hair,  and  buried  himself  in  a  book  of  statis- 
tics. Dear  me,  how  I  do  hate  figures,  and  arithmetic 
never  was  my  forte.  My  life  has  been  one  long  deceit, 
fearing  the  committee  or  big  boys  would  find  out  how 
little  I  knew,  or  catch  the  key  in  my  desk  where  I  kept 
it  hid,  to  peek  at  after  the  sums  were  done. 

Somehow,  though  this  man  looked  dreadful  respect- 
able, I  liked  much  better  the  college  lad  who  had  had 
the  berth  over  mine  the  night  before.  He  and  his  chums 
were  guying  me  all  the  way,  and  T  knew  it  perfectly 
well,  and  just  after  I  had  retired,  I  heard  'em  giggling 
across  the  aisle,  so  I  poked  my  head  out,  keeping  the 
curtains  close  about  my  neck,  and  says: 

"Boys,  enjoy  your  fun,  but  don't  think  I'm  uncon- 
scious of  it.  I've  taught  lads  for  thirty  years,  and  some- 
how, if  your  jokes  are  at  my  expense,  I'm  in  sympathy 
with  you." 

They  quieted  mighty  quick,  and  my  young  man  car- 
ried my  carpet  bag  when  1  changed  cars  and  saw  me 
aboard  all  right,  as  polite  as  a  basket  of  chips. 

Well,  I  studied  my  vis-a-vis,  and  he  read  the  statis- 
tics, and  after  a  time  he  drew  a  black-looking  cigar  out 
of  his  pocket,  laid  it  beside  his  nose  and  then  went  out 
to  smoke  in  that  mysterious  car  where  women  are  not 
allowed.  I  know  that  by  experience,  for  I  blundered 
into  one  by  mistake,  and  a  scared-looking  man,  acting 
as  if  I  was  a  woman  suffragist  and  meant  to  take  his 


10  BABE  MURPHY. 

rights  away,  or  share  'em,  rushed  at  me  and  says: 
"Madam  you  must  go  out  of  here."  "Only  too  quick," 
I  answers,  short  enough,  "unless I  was  a  human  ham," 
so  I  fancy  I  was  ahead  on  that. 

When  the  stranger  was  gone  I  peeked  at  the  book  he'd 
left.  I  forgot  the  title,  but  I  shall  always  remember  the 
name  in  legible  writing  on  it.  "Henry  Dubois  Beach ." 
A  dignified,  straight-up  name  in  similar  handwriting, 
not  H.  Dubois  Beach,  which  parting  a  name  always 
seemed  to  me  like  parting  a  man's  hair  in  the  middle, 
and  both  habits  to  belong  to  Miss  Xancy's. 

I  grew  sort  of  tired,  so  I  left  my  bonnet  on  the  seat, 
and  having  a  chance,  the  last  infant  in  the  car  being 
thoroughly  watered,  I  went  out  to  the  dressing-room  to 
brush  my  hair  and  slick  up,  as  we  say  down  East.  When 
I  got  back,  Mr.  Beach — as  I  supposed  from  his  book — 
was  sitting  in  my  place,  reading,  as  calm  as  you  please. 
I  gave  him  one  look — that  he  did  not  see — and  sat  down 
to  ride  backwards,  though  I've  been  told  in  case  of  ac- 
cident the  shock  is  more  apt  to  break  the  neck.  I  sat 
there  awhile,  putting  things  to  rights  in  a  little  hand 
reticule  I  carried  and  thinking  how  dreadful  dear  trav- 
eling was,  when  suddenly  I  missed  something.  I  kept 
a  worrying,  when  all  at  once  I  put  my  hand  to  my  head. 
Then  in  my  most  ugly  voice,  in  my  chilliest  manner,  I 
leaned  forward  to  that  Mr.  Beach : 

"Sir,"  I  said,  "I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  but  you 
are  not  only  occupying  the  place  I  paid  for,  but  you  are 
sitting  on  my  bonnet !" 


CHAPTER  II. 

MR.    BEACH   IS   VERY    POLITE. 

He  looked  at  me  coldly.  "  Madam,  did  you  address 
me?"  he  said,  in  a  frosty  sort  of  voice  that  went  well 
with  his  face  and  manner. 

"  That  I  did/'  I  snapped,  "  and  the  longer  you  sit 
on  that  bonnet  the  harder  it  will  be  to  get  into  shape." 

He  rose  stiffly,  looking  sort  of  surprised,  and  sure 
enough — I'd  died  if  it  hadn't  been  there — he  was  on  my 
bonnet  that  I'd  paid  five  dollars  for  in  Bath,  Maine, 
and  it  was  all  mussed  out  of  shape.  He  handed  it  to 
me  in  his  stiff,  but  polite  way. 

"I  fear,  madam,  the  damage  is  excessive — beyond 
repair." 

"  Straw  ain't  so  brittle,"  I  said,  cheerfully,  for  the 
moment  he  began  to  act  sorry,  womanlike,  I  forgave 
him,  "  that's  the  benefit  of  good  material,  it  bends 
right  back  into  shape." 

"And  I  occupy  your  place,"  he  wTent  on,  "really  I 
am  sadly  forgetful,  so  many  business  cares — permit  me 
to  change  with  you.  I  am  used  to  a  lower  berth,  I 
never  rode  backwards  before.  This  time,  as  usual,  I 
telegraphed  ahead,  but  was  informed  by  the  insolent 
negro  porter,  the  lower  berth  was  engaged  by — a  per- 
son," he  finished,  with  a  slight  hesitation. 

"Me,"  I  said,  promptly,  "but  I  didn't  telegraph, 
the  young  man  that  helped  me  aboard  the  car  gave  the 
porter  a  dollar  to  secure  this  place  for  me." 

11 


12  BABE  MUliPIIT. 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Beach,  "have  you  the  young 
man's  name  ?" 

"I  don't — don't,"  says  I,  "know  it,  I  met  him"en 
voyage/'as  the  French  say.  But  I  am,  Mr.  Beach  (as 
your  book  names  you),  of  an  age  when  introductions 
don't  count." 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered  absently,  and  though  that 
was  true,  his  agreeing  with  me  did  not  please  me  none 
too  well. 

After  that  we  talked  considerable,  and  he  was  real 
polite  about  helping  me  on  and  off  the  train.  I  noticed 
at  meal  stations,  where  the  victuals  were  pretty  bad,  he 
would  neither  eat  nor  complain,  only  looking  about  him 
with  a  stony  disgust.  In  fact,  he  assured  me,  "that 
there  might  be  people  who  liked ' roughing  it/to  use 
an  Americanism,  but  he  was  not  of  that  class.  Even 
yachting  was  a  weariness  his  stomach  revolted,  as 
for  fishing,  he  preferred  to*eat  fish  with  which  he  had 
had  no  previous  acquaintance,  nor  did  their  death  strug- 
gles, impaled  on  a  hook,  give  zest  to  his  appetite." 

Somehow  the  next  day,  though  he  paid  but  a  sort  of 
abstracted  attention,  I  found  myself  telling  him  my 
history. 

' '  But,  Miss  Wilder,"  he  says,  solemnly,  "why  not  have 
put  that  $3,000  at  interest,  even  in  government  bonds? 
you  would  have  had  some  little  income." 

"I  was  sick  of  being  chained  in  by  circumstance,  I 
wanted  to  see  the  world  and  go  a  junketing." 

"  You  have  singular  ideas,"  he  said  in  his  frozen  way, 
not  unkindly  at  all,  but  regarding  me  as  some  strange 
animal,  "  now  what  do  you  propose  to  do  when  you  are 


1[R.  BEACH  IS  VERY  POLITE.  13 

weary  of,  or  forced  by  financial  reasons  to  abandon — 
to  use  yonr  expression,  your  junketing?" 

"Teach,  or  nurse,  or  something.  I  can  drag  along 
the  years  left  if  I  have  had  one  good  time.  If  your  life  had 
been  like  mine,  as  barren  as  those  plains,"  I  said,  look- 
ing out  on  those  never-ending  stretches  of  level  land, 
olive  tinted,  glimmering  here  and  there  with  a  gor- 
geously colored  flower,  "like  me,  you  would  barter  the 
future  for  a  glorious  to-day,  for  the  good  time  that 
comes  so  easy  to  some  favored  folks." 

I  saw  him  look  at  my  wrinkled  face  and  old-maidish 
appearing  self  with  a  sort  of  sui^rise. 

"You  are  a  Christian  woman  I  hope?"  he  says. 

"  As  much  as  any  of  us  are." 

Still  surprised,  he  buried  himself  in  his  book,  and  I 
glanced  out  the  window  not  a  bit  sorry  I  had  waked  him  up. 

' '  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  after  a  pause,  laying  down 
the  book,  as  if  his  human  interest  had  got  the  better  of 
his  dignity,  and  looking  kindly  at  me,  "you  have  in- 
terested me." 

La,  how  condescending  he  was.  "  I  suppose  you 
have  wondered,"  he  went  on,  impressively,  "where  I 
live.  Let  me  tell  you.  Imagine  a  town  of  log-houses 
set  up  in  the  Eocky  Mountains,  nine  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea.  Imagine  those  houses  grouped  about  a 
big  wooden  building,  where  a  tall  chimney  sends  forth 
poisonous  smoke  night  and  day.  Imagine  a  great  hill 
of  grey  ore  about  the  mouth  of  a  dark,  deep  shaft,  and 
over  this  hill,  while  daylight  lasts,  numbers  of  human 
ants  scrambling  and  tugging,  hurrying  to  fill  the  repa- 
cious  mouth  of  the  mill-monster   that  turns  the  grey 


14  BABE  MURPHY. 

ore  into  shining  silver  bars.  Picture  a  deep  gorge,  for 
the  village  lies  on  the  mountain  side  and  straggles 
down  a  winding  road  along  the  brink  of  a  precipice, 
forest  everywhere,  and  laden  trains  of  mules  and  wag- 
ons, or  on  distant  mountain  sides,  tiny  donkeys — bur- 
ros we  call  them — pack-weighted.  Picture  great  tower- 
ing mountains  all  around  you,  and  across  the  purple 
shadows  shining,  snow-clad  peaks,  while  in  every  gorge 
are  brown  and  noisy  brooks,  and  in  our  valley  the  Unca- 
pahgre  rushes  madly  to  the  distant  sea-hastening  rivers 
of  the  plains.  That  is  my  home,  the  town  of  Erin, 
made  famous  and  populous  by  the  Maid  of  Erin  mine, 
of  which  I  am  the  superintendent  and  part  owner.  A 
little  world  in  itself,  is  our  mountain  town,  thirty  miles 
from  any  other  place,  approached  only  by  a  dangerous 
road." 

"Pd  like  to  go  there,"  I  said,  "I  do  long  to  see 
real  mountains." 

"In  a  pretty  grove  away  from  the  town  I  have  a 
pleasant  home,  and  below  the  mine,  nearer  the  river,  is 
the  church  and  school  house.  Do  you  know,  despite  my 
brief  acquaintance  with  you,  I  almost  feel  like  suggest- 
ing you  come  and  try  to  teach  our  school  for  a  period. 
I  think  it  has  been  quite  three  months  since  we  had  a 
session.  You  see,"  he  went  on,  slowly,  "we  find  great 
difficulty  in  keeping  a  female  teacher — " 

"Is  it  so  lawless?"  I  asked.  I  have  heard  and  read 
Western  stories,  but  somehow  I  could  not  place  that 
cold-blooded,  precise  gentleman  in  any  of  them. 

"Decidedly  not,  I  can  assure  you,  thanks  to  my 
influence  and  laws,  but  the  trouble  with  our  young  lady 


MR.  BEACH  18  VERT  POLITE.  15 

teachers  is  they  enter  into  the  bonds  of  matrimony  with 
the  men  employed  in  the  mine.  Do  not  misunderstand 
me,  I  am  thoroughly  a  believer  in  marriage,  necessary  to 
the  development  and  morality  of  a  country,  but  admit 
that  it  is  vexatious  to  import  a  teacher  at  considerable 
expense  from  Denver  and  have  her  do  as  the  last  one 
did,  marry  my  foreman  a  month  after  her  arrival.  I 
do  not  believe  in  celibacy  at  all,  I  have  a  very  charming 
wife  at  Erin.  I  would  like  Mrs.  Beach  to  know  you,  but 
you  must  not  talk  of  junketing  to  her,  young  minds, 
Miss  Wilder  (and  I  did  think  then  what  on  earth 
induced  a  young  woman  to  marry  you?)  now  what  do 
you  think  of  my  plan?" 

"  I  might  try  for  a  term  (I  hesitated,  remembering 
fractions  and  compound  interest  that  I  never  was  sure 
of,  and  this  man  would  find  it  out  too,  by  a  few  ques- 
tions), if  the  boys  are  small." 

"The  smallest;  the  older  children  become  toilers  very 
early,  and  you  will  find  all  sadly  backward,  for  I  infer, 
by  some  examinations  that  I  have  attended,  that  the 
teachers  have  given  more  attention  to  the  vanities  of  toi- 
let than  to  the  cultivation  of  their  own  or  scholars'minds." 

So  it  was,  after  a  day's  longer  journey  through  such 
scenery  that  fills  my  heart  yet  with  joy,  that  I  did 
junket  and  cut  loose  from  old  traditions,  and  that  filled 
my  heart  with  awe  and  admiration  of  the  glory  of  God, 
I  found  myself  in  Silver  City. 

In  the  hotel  parlor  I  sat  and  looked  out  on  twenty- 
five  saloons  across  the  road,  with  a  population,  as  I 
watched,  of  five  to  six  drinking  men  to  each.  Land  ! 
I  says,  what  a  thirst  these  mountain  altitudes  gives  to 


16  BABE  MURPHY. 

human  beings  !  It  seemed  strange  to  me,  coming  from 
a  temperance  State  where  liquor  comes  in  barrels  marked 
kerosene,  and  is  retailed  at  drug  store  back  doors,  or 
consumed  in  cellars  and  barns.  While  I  sat  there,  a 
girl  about  fifteen  came  in,  carrying  a  crying  baby  about 
stifled  in  cloaks  and  wraps. 

"Seems  to  me,  miss,"  I  says,  "your  little  sister  is 
mostly  smothered  in  clothes.  I'd  take  off  that  flannel 
cloak  if  I  was  you,  and  give  the  little  thing  some  air." 

"  'Tain't  my  sister,  it's  my  baby, "she  snaps,  "an'  I 
guess  I  kin  run  it  better  than  a  old  maid  kin,  an'  it's 
bin  colicky  sence  it  was  borned." 

La,  thinks  I,  they  get  married  dreadful  young  out 
here,  and  what  a  land  it  is,  and  unconsciously  I  thought, 
looking  at  her,  where  every  prospect  pleases  and  only 
manners  is  vile.  Then  Beach  came  for  me,  and, 
waiting  at  the  door  was  a  fine  carriage,  made  extra 
strong  and  hung  pretty  low,  and  drawn  by  a  pair  of 
stout,  chunky  horses,  cream  colored,  and  known  as 
bronchos,  containing  more  ugliness  than  any  other  ani- 
mals I  ever  saw  harnessed  up. 

"Your  baggage  has  already  gone,"  said  Mr.  Beach, 
and  I  could  imagine  the  look  he  cast  on  that  brass- 
nailed,  frowsy  trunk  of  mine.  I  got  in  the  back  seat 
and  he  took  the  front.  "I  hope  the  parcels  do  not 
inconvenience  you,"  he  says.  "Not  at  all,"  I  answered, 
though  I  was  most  buried  in  them.  I  noticed  he  was 
not  liked  about  the  hotel,  that  everybody  served  him 
unwillingly,  flinging  things  around,  and,  as  we  drove 
off  I  heard  a  great  creature  in  a  big  hat  and  his  pants 
tucked  in  his  boots  say: 


MR.  BEACH  IS  VERY  POLITE.  17 

"Git  onto  that  old  chromo;  Beach  has  got  a  school 
marm  that  will  stay  this  time." 

Oh  that  ride  along  chasms,  abysses,  and  precipices, 
when  every  hair  of  my  curls  seemed  to  rise  and  I  would 
have  given  a  year  of  my  life  to  fetch  one  screech,  but 
was  quieted  by  that  dignity  driving.  But  then  again, 
such  vistas  through  the  evergreens,  such  shady  spots 
under  the  aspens  by  mountains'  cascades,  such  views  of 
shining  distant  peaks  and  far  purple  hills.  Once  he 
whipped  up  the  yellow  bronchos  and  says: 

"Miss  Wilder,  the  road  ahead,  around  this  bend,  has 
a  sheer  fall  of  nine  hundred  feet,  is  cut  out  of  the  solid 
rock,  and  cost  $40,000  to  the  mile." 

Then  he  actually  whipped  up  the  horses,  right  on  the 
brink  of  that  awful  precipice.  I  said,  "Lord  a  mercy 
me,"  and  held  tight  to  the  seat.  It  was  so  awful,  that 
away,  away,  down,  and  the  glint  of  a  river  so  far  below 
you  couldn't  hear  it  ripple.  I  felt  all  at  once  I  had  been 
a  trifling,  wicked  woman,  and  junketing  might  be  sinful. 

Soon  after  that  we  reached  the  town  that  was  just  as 
he  had  described,  and  he  let  me  out  at  a  neat  cottage 
kept  by  the  widow  Finnerty,  whose  husband  had  been 
lost  in  the  mine,  and  who  had  the  rusty  clothes  and 
big  knuckles  of  all  the  afflicted.  I  wondered  if  letting 
rooms  and  keeping  boarders  isn't  a  kind  of  penance  a 
woman  pays  for  losing  a  husband;  most  widows  is  in 
that  business,  sort  of  like  those  misguided  females  in 
India  who  used  to  be  burned  alive  after  their  husbands' 
funerals. 

The  sitting  room  that  was  to  be  my  bedroom  was 
quite  neat  and  tasty,  and  the  supper  was  not  bad3  but 


18  BABE  MURPHY. 

afterwards  I  did  get  tired  of  beans  and  canned  victuals. 
After  this,  and  some  conversation  with  Mrs.  Finnerty, 
principally  about  "him,"  the  general  subject  of  relicts, 
(and  there's  one  comfort  that  word  can't  be  put  oil  my 
tombstone,  as  if  I  was  a  scrap  of  human  kind)  I  went 
out  for  a  walk.  I  went  away  from  the  town,  near  the 
river  and  the  school  house;  the  path  was  pleasant  and 
shady,  and  in  the  clearing  by  the  school  house — not 
much  different  from  ours  in  Southport,  but  built  of 
logs — I  got  a  fine  view  of  the  sunset  on  the  mountains. 
I  stayed  quite  a  spell,  absorbed  in  the  beauty  of  the 
glow  on  the  snowy  peaks,  and  the  quick-falling  purple 
twilight,  that  it  was  considerable  late  when  I  started 
back,  and  the  stars  were  out  in  the  great  black  vault 
above.  I  kept  a  sharp  lookout  for  cows,  having  my 
umbrella  along,  but  of  men  I  never  thought  at  all. 
But  as  I  went  along,  standing  in  a  side  path  as  if 
waiting  for  me,  was  a  monstrous  looking  man  in  a 
flannel  shirt,  trowsers  tucked  in  his  boots  and  one  of 
those  big  hats  on  his  head.  He  may  not  have  been  so 
awful  big,  but  looked  so  in  my  scared  condition,  a  real 
Western  Buffalo  Bill  sort  of  creature.  I  was  minding 
my  business  and  hoped  he  would  do  likewise,  so  I  went 
calmly  ahead,  but  lo  and  behold,  he  steps  after  me, 
quicker  as  I  hurried,  till,  fairly  drove  to  it,  I  turned  and 
faced  him. 

"Man,"  I  said,  "what  are  your  intentions?" 
"You're  the  new  school   marm,  ain't  you?" he  says, 
familiar  enough. 

"If  I  am,  I  haven't  been  introduced  to  you,". I   said, 
with  scorn. 


MR.  BE  AC  II  18   VERT  POLITE.  19 

"You  have  a  trim  look,  if  you  are  done  up  in  that 
veil,"he  says, coming  closer  to  me;  (iI  saw  you  walking 
this  way  and  thought  you  might  want  company. " 

"I  generally  pick  my  own," I  sneered. 

"Oh  pshaw/' he  says,  "don't  be  offish,"  and  made  a 
lunge  at  me.  I  raised  my  umbrella  and  whacked  at 
him,  and  though  I  struck  considerable  hard,  he  didn't 
seem  to  mind  it  at  all. 

"I'll  kiss  you  for  that,"  he  says,  and  catches  my 
umbrella  (it  was  only  cotton  and  was  replaced  with  a 
ten-dollar  silk  one  later,  and  I  took  it  too,  as  any  one 
would)  and  breaks  it  and  grabs  me.  My  weapon  gone, 
I  gave  a  screech  that  fairly  woke  the  echoes.  It  seemed 
the  condensed  misery  of  all  my  experiences  on  that 
ride  along  precipices  when  I  dassent  say  a  word.  I 
yelled  a  second  time  and  mercifully,  some  one  heard, 
for  there  was  the  sound  of  a  horse's  galloping  hoofs,  and 
horse  and  rider  came  dashing  almost  over  us! 


CHAPTER  III. 

'BABE   MURPHY   TO   THE   RESCUE. 

"  Save  me!"  I  screeched,  while  the  man  let  go  of  me, 
and  then  I  saw  my  rescuer  was  only  another  female  like 
myself,  riding  a  horse.  "  Goodness,  go  get  a  man,"  I 
says,  "some  one  to  attend  to  this  creature. " 

""Why,  Jim  Dunn,  ain't  you  ashamed/'  says  a  pleas- 
ant sort  of  voice,  don't  be  scared,  ma'am,  he  don't 
mean  any  harm ." 

"Don't  indeed,"  I  snapped,  "I  hope  to  gracious  his 
behavior  ain't  common  in  this  country." 

"  Did  you  try  to  kiss  her,  Jim  ?"  says  that  sweet 
voice,  and  I  could  see  in  the  half-light  the  speaker  was 
tall  and  straight,  sitting  her  horse  well  and  fearlessly. 

"  None  of  your  business/'  mumbles  Jim. 

"And  you  broke  my  umbrella,"  I  put  in,  vicious 
enough. 

' '  Oh,  Jim,  come  now,  that  was  a  mean  way  to  treat 
the  new  teacher." 

"Well,  you  see,"  says  the  villain  Jim,  "the  other 
fellers  always  cut  me  out  with  the  teachers,  and  I  heard 
a  new  one  had  come,  and  I  see  her  all  veiled  and  fixed 
up,  prancing  out  for  a  walk,  and  I  made  up  my  mind 
I'd  be  ahead  this  time,  and  get  acquainted  with  her  the 
first." 

"You  went  about  it  in  a  nice  way,"  laughs  my 
rescuer. 

"You  needn't  giggle,  if  she  didn't  want  to  be  fol- 
lowed, what  did  she  go  out  for?" 

20 


BABE  MURPHY  TO  THE  RESCUE.  21 

"  Oh,  indeed!"  I  said.  "  So  no  one  can  set  foot  out- 
doors in  this  land  of  savages!" 

Suddenly  a  match  flared  up,  and  the  lady  leaned  for- 
ward from  her  horse,  and  snatched  off  my  veil.  "Jim, 
Fm  ashamed  of  you ! " 

"A  woman  old  enough  to  be  your  mother,"  I  put  in, 
but  I  was  mad  at  the  girl's  impudence.  Minx,  I  could 
have  boxed  her  ears.  Well,  I  shall  never  forget  that 
man's  face  seen  for  a  second  by  the  fading  light. 

"  Cork-screw  curls  and  all,"  he  says  with  a  kind  of 
groan,  "  and  I  was  bent  on  kissing  that.  Babe  Murphy, 
if  you  ever  tell  on  me  you'll  be  sorry.  Say,  old  lady, 
I'll  give  you  a  ten-dollar  umbrella,  and  dern  me,  but 
you  are  the  trimmest  old  gal  I  ever  see.  I'm  sorry  I 
scared  you — apologize,  but  I'll  be — (somewhat  of  a  pro- 
fane expression  that  I  found  rather  common  in  the 
locality,  but  won't  print)  if  I  was  your  age  I'd  cata- 
waul  if  a  fellow  wanted  to  kiss  me.  Might  have  known 
you  were  an  old  maid  by  your  screeches." 

With  that  he  slouches  by,  but  the  girl  flared  another 
match  in  his  face  as  he  passed,  and  if  he  didn't  look 
cheap. 

"I'd  like  to  wring  you  neck,"  he  says. 

"  For  stopping  you,  Jim?"  she  answers,  pert  enough, 
and  bursts  into  a  peal  of  rippling  laughter.  I  giggled, 
too,  even  at  my  own  expense,  and  he  went  away  grum- 
bling, "Don't  you  dare  tell.  Pretty  badly  sold,  if  the 
boys  knew,"  and  when  he  was  some  ways  off,  we  heard 
him  roar,  too. 

"Your  manners  are  none  too  good,  Miss,"  I  says, 
"and  if  you  are  a  respectable  girl,  I  can't  see  why  your 


22  BABE  MURPHY, 

folks  allow  yon  to  galivate  around  at  this  time  of  night 
alone  for." 

"My  manner  ain't  good,"  she  says  with  another  peal 
of  laughter,  "and  hless  your  heart  the  men  here  at 
Erin  know  me.  I  was  raised  here,  place  called  after 
my  mother's  birthplace,  that  mine  was  called  after  her, 
she  was  a  maid  of  Erin.  Like  to  see  anyone  insult  me. 
I  saw  you  riding  with  old  Beach  today,  did  he  freeze 
you  on  the  way?  They  say  since  he  came  winter  sets 
in  a  month  earlier,  and  there's  frost  every  day  in  the 
year.  Don't  get  mad  about  the  veil,  it  was  such  a  dandy 
on  Jim.  Are  you  going  to  Mrs.  Finnerty's?  Of  course 
you  are,  all  the  teachers  stop  there.     I'll  go 'long  with 

you." 

At  that  she  jumps  off  her  horse,  pulls  his  bridle 
through  her  arm,  grabs  up  her  long  skirt,  and  walks 
with  me. 

"If  you  have  a  mind  to  go,  you  can,"  I  said,  stiff 
enough;  for  I  was  not  sure  she  was  a  proper  kind  of  a 
person. 

"You  needn't  be  so  distant,"  she  said,  still  laughing, 
"  I  wanted  to  know  you  since  I've  set  eyes  on  you.  I 
was  up  mountain  when  you  passed  with  Beach.  I 
never  liked  the  other  teachers,  nor  they  me.  They  were 
a  silly,  man-hunting  crowcL  as  forgoing  to  their  school, 
I  never  thought  of  it.  I  don't  know  much,  but  they 
couldn't  teach  me  nothing.  I  read,  that's  the  way  I 
learn.  See,  here  we  are  at  Finnerty's.  She's  gone  to 
bed.  I'll  go  in  and  see  how  you  are  iixed.  "  I  say,  " 
she  went  on,  "there's  your  trunk,  lend  a  hand  and 
I'll  help  you  in  with  it.  " 


BABE  MURP1IY  TO  THE  RESCUE.  23 

I  found  myself  actually  carrying  my  trunk  with  her. 
It  had  been  carelessly  left  outside.  The  lamp  was  lit 
in  my  room,  but  turned  down  and  smelling  awful;  I 
turned  it  up  and  looked  at  the  girl.  Mercy,  what  a  tall 
creature  she  was,  five  foot  seven,  slim,  long-armed,  and 
broad  shouldered,  too  lean  now,  with  a  sort  of  coltishness 
of  gait  and  manner,  but  might,  if  she  fattened,  be  a 
magnificent  looking  woman.  She  hadn't  stays  on,  I 
could  see,  and  her  riding  habit,  green  braided  with  gold 
in  a  circusy  sort  of  way,  was  worn  and  faded.  But  what 
a  charm  her  face  had,  a  straight  nose,  a  scornful  red 
mouth  with  an  oddly  short  upper  lip,  that  Fve  read 
in  English  novels  was  a  sign  of  good  blood,  bright  gray 
eyes,  looking  almost  black  at  night,  dark  hair,  heavy 
eyebrows,  long  lashes,  and  a  rosy  complexion,  some 
freckled,  but  pure  and  healthy  looking.  I  did  like  her 
looks  as  she  stood  there,  towering  a  head  and  shoulders 
above  me. 

"  Well,"  she  grinned,  showing  her  pretty  teeth,  "I'm 
all-fired  tall,  ain't  I?" 

"Tall  for  a  woman,  yes,  but  better  than  runty  like 
me." 

"My  father  is  six  foot  two,  they  call  him  the  hand- 
somest man  in  the  Rockies.  Land,  I'd  like  to  be  shorter, 
I'm  so  awkward,  and  was  the^omicalest  leggy  girl,  they 
used  to  call  me  the  sand  crane,  when  my  dresses  were 
short.  Thank  heaven  I'm  eighteen  now  and  done  grow- 
ing. What  a  dear  little  soul  you  are,  so  sort  of  East- 
erny  and  respectable,  as  if  it  came  natural  to  you,  and 
you  didn't  have  to  fight  to  be  it  like  me.  Can  I  sit 
down  ?" 


24  BABE  MURPHY. 

"  Of  course  you  can,  "  I  says,  warming  to  her  at  once, 
"I  wasn't  very  mannerly  not  to  ask  you. " 

Somehow  those  big  gray  eyes,  the  pretty  mouth  and 
her  sort  of  boyish  way  won  me  at  once.  She  sprawled 
herself  into  a  chair  and  began  whipping  her  skirt  with 
a  ugly  whip  she  carried. 

"  That's  a  quirt  we  call  'em, "  she  said,  seeing  me 
looking  at  it,  "if  you  rode  a  broncho  you'd  need  one. 
Say,  what's  your  name  ?  " 

"Lydia  Ann  Wilder." 

"Just  like  yourself.  Mine's  a  spud.  Oh,  you  ain't 
up  to  Western  slang,  a  Murphy  then.  Really  Murphy, 
slang  for  potato.  I'm  of  Irish  distraction,  as  Mrs. 
Finnerty  says.  They  call  me  Babe  around  here.  I  was 
brought  up  here  and  the  name  they  gave  me  when  I  was 
a  toddler  has  stuck;  I'm  a  rather  big  infant  though. 
When  I  was  fourteen  Pa  had  a  streak  of  good  luck, 
sold  a  mine  of  his  to  a  sucker  from  Boston  and  I  was 
sent  to  a  convent  in  Denver.  It  was  nice  there  really, 
those  prim  little  sisters,  and  then  to  be  called  Beatrice. 
That's  my  name,  but  it  don't  hitch  with  Murphy  some- 
how. Two  years  of  being  civilized,  then  back  here  to 
go  into  wildness  again  with  a  pain  always  in  my  heart, 
that  I  couldn't  be  like  other  girls."  She  was  talking 
earnestly  now,  her  sweet  face  grave  and  sad. 

"You  see,  ten  years  ago  Pa  discovered  the  Maid  of 
Erin  mine,  but  hadn't  the  rhino  to  work  it,  and  Beach, 
who  was  a  shyster  lawyer  in  Denver,  living  by  people's 
misfortunes,  like  the  vultures  on  carrion,  took  a  mortea^e 

■m*        H  ■  ft  . 

on  it  of  &30,000,  pretending  lie  was  awful  friendly  to 
Pa.    Most  of  the  money  went  down  the  shaft  and  down 


BABE  MURPHY  TO  THE  RESCUE.  25 

Pa's  throat,  and  one  day  the  mortgage  came  due,  and 
though  Pa  moved  heaven  and  earth,  somehow  Beach 
and  his  capitalistic  friends  couldn't  wait,  and  the  mine 
was  sold  for  forty  thousand,  and  a  hundred  thousand  dol-' 
lars  worth  of  ore  in  sight,  and  Pa's  partner,  Dick  Daggett, 
who  went  to  New  York  for  money,  telegraphing  too 
late  he'd  got  it.  So  by  some  shyster  tricks,  Beach  got 
Pa  out  of  the  mine,  and  flung  him  a  sop  of  $10,000. 
Corporation  against  a  corpse,  I  guess,  for  all  the  good 
Pa  is  when  he's  full,  and  Pa  took  the  ten  thousand  and 
stayed  here  staking  a  claim  up  mountain,  and  swearing  to 
kill  Beach.  I  would  have  flung  the  money  in  his  face  and 
killed  him  instead  of  talking  about  it.  " 

"So  would  I,"  I  cried,  "anything but  treachery  from 
a  friend.'" 

"  Bless  you  for  that,"  she  says,  coming  over  to  me, 
and  actually  hugging  me,  an  entire  stranger.  "  But  the 
backers  of  Beach  got  bit,  too;  he  ousted  them,  and  is 
almost  the  only  owner;  case  of  dog  eat  dog,  as  most 
mining  deals  are  when  a  lawyer  gets  his  clutches  on 
them."  She  looked  up  in  my  face  with  her  bright  eyes. 
"I've  been  just  dying  to  kiss  your  pretty,  wrinkled 
cheek,  with  that  pink  tint,  and  your  dear  little  curls; 
can  I?"  I  smiling  at  her,  she  kissed  me  twice.  "How 
in  the  world  did  you  ever  blow  in  here?"  she  said, 
soberly.  I  patted  her  hair  softly,  and  told  her  about 
myself  and  Southport,  and  my  travels,  and  Mr.  Beach. 

"There  isn't  much  fun  in  anybody's  life,"  she  sighed, 
"and  you  and  me,  both  being  lone  ones,  ought  to  be 
friends.  I've  had  ups  and  downs,  good  clothes  and 
rags,  some  teaching,  some  worse  than  none,  and  live 


26  BABE  MURPHY. 

now,  in  my  poverty,  up  above  timber  line.  Figuratively 
and  literally  I  won't  come  down  from  my  solitudes,  and 
you  can  bet  Pa  and  I  ain't  none  too  friendly  since  he's 
got  stuck  on  Beach's  wife." 

"Land  of  mercy,  tut,  tut!  "  I  said,  aghast.  "That 
isn't  pretty  talk  for  you.  You  ought  not  to  even  know 
of  such  things." 

"Then  I'd  be  deaf,  dumb  and  blind,"  she  answered, 
wearily,  "and  what  a  sight  you'll  learn  in  this  place. 
The  world  about  here  is  so  grand  and  majestic,  it  dwarfs 
human  souls,  and  they  don't  care;  but,  Miss  Wilder," 
and  there  was  real  pathos  in  her  face  and  voice  now, 
"you  believe  in  me.  Even  when  you  know  how  I've 
lived,  and  about  Daggett's  wife  and  Pa,  don't  you  think 
but  I'm  straight.  All  the  miners  will  tell  you  so,  and 
I've  kept  myself  so  when  there  wasn't  a  soul  to  care 
whether  I  was  or  not." 

"I  know  that,  my  dear,  if  straight  means  good. 
Your  face  tells  me,  and  your  mother,  now,  she  looks 
after  you?" 

"She  died  when  I  was  born,  that's  the  worst  of  it. 
There  hasn't  been  a  good  woman  in  my  father's  house 
since  she  was  carried  out  in  her  coffin.  Oh,  I  could 
make  your  heart  ache,  and  your  dear,  old  face  blush  if 
I  tell  you  half  that  I  have  seen.  But  it  wouldn't  be 
square  to  Pa,  and  he's  been  pretty  decent  since  I  came 
back  from  Denver,  but,  till  I  saw  you  and  fell  in  love 
with  you,  there  wasn't  a  soul  I  had  to  care  for  but  my 
dog,  Doc,  he's  a  thoroughbred  greyhound,  and  a  dandy 
to  run.  Doc  Thorn  gave  him  to  me  two  years  ago. 
He  was  the  mine  doctor  here,  and  made  Pa  send  me  to 


BABE  MURPHY  TO  THE  RESCUE.  27 

school.  He  died,  three  months  ago,  of  consumption; 
come  up  here  for  it.  And  it  does  seem  to  me  if  a  man 
is  ever  real  gentle  and  good,  lung  complaint  carries  him 
off.  He  gave  me  books,  and  used  to  talk  to  me. 
•Keep  white,  Babe,' he  used  to  say,  fit  pays  best/  I 
was  with  him  when  he  died," she  choked  a  little  now, 
'•'and  he  said  he  honored  me,  that  I  made  him  think  of 
a  lily  growing  in  the  mire.  He  had  no  need  to  ask  me 
to  promise  to  be  good,  for  I  would  always  be;  'and  be 
proud,  too/'  he  added,  "devilish  proud;  hold  your  head 
high,  and,  above  all,  don't  let  women  down  you  as  they 
will,  for  you  are  going  to  be  handsome,  and  women 
haven't  much  charity  for  a  good-looking,  unprotected 
girl/'  You  can  bet  the  boys  here  are  mighty  nice  to 
me,"  she  said,  getting  up  and  straightening  herself. 
••You  wonder  I'm  not  afraid  to  ride  alone  nights? 
Because  every  miner  is  my  brother,  to  guard  me  and  to 
tell  new  men  who  I  am;  because  in  the  heart  of  the 
roughest  man,  unless  he  be  a  besotted  brute,  is  a  respect 
and  chivalry  for  a  girl  who  is  good,  and  means  to  be  so. 
Now,  good  night,  you  dear  soul:  you,  with  your  little 
womanly  ways,  that  reticule,  your  knitting,  that  black 
silk  apron,  try  and  like  me  a  little,  won't  you?  Let's 
be  friends.'*' 

She  held  out  a  well-shaped  hand,  bronzed,  and  rough- 
ened some  in  the  palm,  a  strange  hand  for  a  woman, 
and  I  took  it  in  my  small,  wrinkled  hands,  and  then  and 
there  we  began  a  friendship  that  only  death  will  end. 

I  listened  to  the  sound  of  her  horse's  hoofs  dying 
away  in  the  darkness,  for  she  was  a  mad,  reckless  rider, 
and  I  sort  of  prayed  she  would  get  home  all  right,  and 


88  BABE  MURPHY. 

blessed  her  bonnie  face.  When  I  was  getting  ready  for 
bed,  I  saw  she'd  left  her  whip,  and  picked  it  up.  A 
braided  thong  of  leather,  with  an  iron  handle,  a  blow 
from  which  would  kill  a  man.  Well,  of  all  things  for 
a  girl  to  carry,  I  thought,  and  laid  it  carefully  aside, 
moaning  to  ask  her  about  it  some  day. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

BABK  MURPHT   THINKS  I'M  "  A  GOOD  SAM-SOMETHING." 

They  had  decided  to  have  a  summer  term,  so  the 
next  day  a  solemn-looking  man  with  a  chin  beard  that 
made  him  look  like  a  sedate  goat,  came  and.  accom- 
panied me  to  the  school  house.  Here  this  man,  Eli 
Ilartman  by  name,  introduced  me  to  about  thirty  boys 
and  girls,  all  mischievous  and  bright-eyed,  and  I  digress 
here  to  say  that  the  genuine  boy  is  the  same  in  the 
mountains  of  Colorado  as  on  the  Maine  coast,  he  is  just 
boy.  The  school  house  had  the  regulation  blackboards, 
the  desks,  and  the  teacher's  place  on  a  raised  platform ; 
but  for  the  mountains  outside  I  might  have  imagined 
myself  in  Southport.  What  a  time  I  had  with  those 
unruly  souls,  who  had  fun  enough  over  my  ways  and 
curls  and  difference  from  any  other  teacher.  I  was 
pretty  nigh  beat  out  when  I  heard  a  horse  outside,  and 
in  trips  my  lady  in  her  green  habit,  and  walks  up  on 
the  platform. 

"How  are  you  getting  on,  Miss  Wilder  ?"  she  says, 
with  her  pretty  smile. 

"  Badly  ;  they  are  mischievous  and  don't  mind  me. 
Some,  I  think,  are  deceiving  me,  for  they  say,  the  big- 
gest of  'em,  they  don't  know  their  letters  ;  several  have 
crawled  out  the  door  under  the  desks,  one  threw  a  spit- 
ball,  and  I  have  quite  a  number  of  pictures  of  a 
female  with  curls  that,  though  badly  drawn,  force  me  to 
believe  are  meant  for  myself." 

29 


30  BABE  Ml'/; PUT. 

She  listened,  then  turned  suddenly  to  the  giggling 
school.  "What  do  you  think  of  your  teacher  ?"  she 
says.  A  chorus  of  ironical  snorts  for  answer.  "Now, 
look  here,  boys,"  she  said,  earnestly,  iS  I  won't  speak  to 
the  girls,  for  they  don't  need  it,  but,  unless  you  want  to 
grow  up  like — like  Chinamen  (they,  I  found,  were  gen- 
erally disliked  in  the  camp),  you've  got  to  go  to  school, 
and  this  time  you  have  a  real  lady  for  a  teacher.  I 
know  when  you  think  she  is  gentle  and  kind,  and  could 
not  strike  you  like  a  dog,  you'll  be  square  with  her. 
You  know  your  fathers  take  care  of  your  mothers,  and 
carry  baby,  and  bring  the  wood  and  water  as  men 
should,  and  here  is  a  dear  old  lady  who  has  no  one  to 
do  for  her,  and  I  put  it  to  your  honor  to  treat  her  well. 
If  one  of  you  acts  bad  I'll  settle  with  him,"  she  finished, 
sternly. 

"You  ain't  our  teacher,"  said  one  rebellious  voice. 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  run  the  school  all  the  same, 
Charley  Dunn,  and  I'll  get  Jim  to  lick  you  for  that  if 
you  don't  be  good,  so  there." 

Charley  subsided,  and  discipline  was  easy  after  that. 
She  came  in  almost  every  day  to  see  how  I  was  getting 
along,  and  every  Saturday  afternoon  she  and  I  took 
long  walks  up  in  the  mountains.  Friday  afternoons 
she  used  to  come  to  school  and  read  the  children  a  story, 
and  once  Mr.  Ilartman,  very  stiff  and  uneasy  in  his 
Sunday  clothes,  appeared  to  object.  "Dcpewted,"  he 
said,  "  by  a  number  4*f  prominent  citizens,"  with  the 
usual  meddlesomeness  of  the  P.  C.  in  all  communities. 
He  said,  "readm*  story-books  wan't  in  the  direction  of 
edication,  and  he  was  depewted  to  interfere." 


TM  "A  GOOD  SAM-SOMETHING."  31 

"  I'm  getting  your  boy  above  the  level  of  the  saloon 
and  faro  bank,"  says  my  girl,  standing  there  in  that  old 
hab-it  (she  never  wore  anything  else,  and  looking  very 
pale  and  bright-eyed),  "  and  I  am  giving  your  girl  new 
thoughts  and  brighter  hopes  to  make  her  a  better  wife 
and  mother  some  day.  If  you  are  against  that,  write 
your  name  to  a  protest  then.  Schools  ought  to  be 
something  besides  stuffing  young  heads  with  names  and 
dates  and  figures.  Life  means  more  than  that.  Honor 
and  virtue,  fairness  and  truth  ought  to  be  taught 
beside.  Now  just  sit  there  and  listen  while  I  read  this 
story  of  Miss  Alcott's,  the  truest  child-lover  I  know, 
and  then  ask  those  eager  children  if  their  minds  have 
not  a  higher  ideal  of  what  good  children  are  and  can 
be.  Ask  them  if  they  don't  want  to  be  manlier  and 
better  because  Jo's  boys  were,  and  the  girls,  because 
Little  Women  were  noble  girls?" 

So  she  went  on  and  read,  and  I  saw  his  eyes  dim, 
heard  him  cough  once  or  twice,  and  noted  he  twisted  his 
work-hardened  hands  uneasily.  When  she  finished  and 
all  those  eager  young  eyes  were  on  him,  those  famished 
little  souls  who  might  after  these  few  years  never  know 
the  blessing  of  books  again,  or  dreams  of  better  things, 
he  rose  stiffly  and  said,  slowly: 

"  Babe,  Miss  Murphy,  I  mean,  if  you  want  a  man  to 
swar  by,  mention  Eli  Hartman.  Ef  you  let  up  on  that 
idee  o'  yourn  of  eddicatin'  them  young  ones  you  ain't 
no  fren  to  the  camp,  and  I'll  see  Uiem  books  is  brought 
here  by  wholesale  by " 

Much  overcome,  he  boAved  himself  out,  and  our  school 
after  that  met  only  commendation.     My  holidays  were 


32  BABE  MURPHY. 

happy  ones  with  Babe,  for  I  called  her  that  too.  We 
used  to  start  at  daylight  and  go  miles  up  some  mount- 
ain trail  and  spend  the  day  together.  What  a  com- 
panion she  was,  so  bright,  so  merry,  boyish  in  her  ways, 
and  protecting  me  like  a  man.  She'd  got  me  to  ride 
that  broncho  of  hers  if  she  led  him,  and  she  leading,  I 
riding,  carrying  the  basket,  was  the  way  we  came  home 
after  our  trips.  Never  in  our  intimacy  did  she  speak 
of  her  father  or  her  home  again,  nor  did  I  ask  her,  see- 
ing it  sort  of  spoiled  her  pleasure  to  think  of  the  past. 
The  Beaches  were  in  Silver  City,  and  I  had  not  seen  him 
since  I  came. 

The  last  Saturday  in  July  we  were  going  home  along 
the  Silver  City  road,  in  our  usual  fashion,  and  I  was 
none  too  comfortable  on  that  animal,  suffering  mortal 
terror,  when  he  lopped  his  ears  back,  as  he  generally 
did  when  any  one  passed,  when  I  heard  the  rattle  of 
wheels  and  saw  the  cream-colored  bronchos  coming.  I 
made  Babe  draw  the  animal  up  to  the  side  of  the  road 
for  the  carriage  to  pass.  Mr.  Beach,  as  cold  and  im- 
pressive as  ever,  was  driving,  and  in  the  back  seat,  not 
made  uncomfortable  by  bundles  I  can  tell  you,  was  a 
lady  shading  her  face  with  a  costly  parasol  of  black 
laca  lined  with  scarlet.     Beach  reigned  in  his  horses. 

"Good  evening,  Miss  Wilder,  Miss  Murphy, "  with  a 
bow  so  stiff  I  fancied  his  neck  must  creak;  teI  have 
heard  favorable  accounts  of  the  school,  very  satisfactory 
to  me,  indeed.  Onl^  the  reading  story  books,  Miss 
Wilder,  I  do  not  exactly  approve  of  that.  Do  not  fill 
the  minds  of  our  miners'  children  with  ideas  beyond 
their  station.     The  future  of  your  scholars  is  hard  work 


TM  "A  GOOD  SAM-SOyrKTUING."  33 

and  lives  devoid  of  romance.  Mrs.  Beach,  this  is  our 
new  teacher,  she  has,  you  see,  accepted  the  customs  of 
our  country  and  is  becoming  a  horsewoman." 

I  looked  at  Mrs.  Beach  then.  A  slight  lady-like  fig- 
ure, gowned  in  a  costly  black  lace  put  on  in  willful  dis- 
regard of  the  dust  and  ruin  of  a  journey,  in  defiance  of 
cost.  I  saw  her  face  was  rather  thin,  with  handsome 
features,  a  white  skin,  ghastly  almost  against  her  blue- 
black  hair,  and  that  her  eyes  were  large  and  brilliant, 
but  cold  and  unfeeling.  Her  eyebrows  and  lashes  were 
jet  black  also,  and  the  only  life  in  her  face,  strangely  at 
variance  with  her  expression,  were  her  pouting  rosy 
lips,  rather  full,  but  partly  disguised  now  with  a  droop 
at  the  corners.  In  fact,  her  downcast  lashes  and  repell- 
ent mouth  seemed  like  a  mask.  With  that  impassive 
face  and  listless  manner,  she  seemed  like  a  woman  over 
thirty-five  instead  of  barely  twenty-five.  I  noticed  her 
exquisitely  fitting  gloves,  her  diamond  earrings,  her 
costly  bonnet  and  toilet,  and  wondered  how  such  a 
woman  endured  life  in  Erin.  She  bowed  distantly  to 
me,  barely  raising  her  eyes,  but  shot  one  glance  of 
hatred  to  Babe  that  gave  her  face  a  sudden  and  charm- 
ing life.  She  made  me  think  of  a  snake  with  her 
bright  flashes  of  glances. 

"You  will  find  it  dull  and  dreary  here,  the  people 
commonplace;  you  will  soon  tire  of  Quixotic  ideas  of 
elevating  them,  Miss  ^Yilder,"  she  drawled,  but  her 
voice,  with  all  its  languor,  had  an  irritated  metallic 
sound. 

"Clara,  that  is  hardly  fair,"  corrected  Mr.  Beach, 
and  he  did  seem  to  take  pleasure  in  giving  his  opinions 


34  BABE  MURPHY. 

to  down  everybody  else's.  "Do  not  prejudice  the  new 
teacher.  I  am  sure  we  enjoy  life  in  our  eyrie  in  the 
hills  among  the  clouds." 

Her  face  did  not  relax  from  its  coldness,  she  leaned 
back  with  a  slightly  bored  air,  and  Beach,  with  a  chilly 
good  evening,  drove  on. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  her  ?"  said  Babe,  abruptly. 
She  had  not  glanced  either  at  Beach  or  his  wife, 
but  stood  looking  the  other  way  while  they  were 
talking. 

"Very  ladylike,"  I  ventured. 

"So  that's  a  lady,"  muttered  Babe,  "A  living  lie." 
She  raised  her  sad  eyes  and  looked  along  the  dusty 
road  where  a  cloud  rising  betokened  some  new  comer, 
"H'm  I  thought  so."  I  did  not  think  my  dear  girl 
could  look  so  ugly  if  I  must  say  it.  Her  short  lip 
curled,  her  eyes  grew  lighter  colored  and  her  black 
brows  met  in  a  disagreeable  wrinkle. 

"What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?"  I  asked,  "I  never  saw 
you  look  that  way  before.  It's  like  a  sudden  storm  cloud 
on  a  bright  day." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  hung  her  head,  her  hands 
loosely  clasped — something  pathetic  and  hopeless  in  her 
manner.  I  saw  close  upon  us  a  huge  bay  horse,  marked 
with  a  white  strip  down  his  nose,  and  three  white  feet. 
His  rider,  a  big,  broad-shouldered  man,  was  dressed  in 
corduroy,  with  a  sombrero  drawn  down  over  his  eyes. 
When  he  saw  us,  he  took  off  this  hat,  and  I  saw  he'd  a 
ruddy  complexion,  curling  bronze  beard  and  hair,  hue 
features,  and  the  gray  eyes  that  looked  at  us  with  a  sort 
of  mocking  light  were  Babe's  very  own,  but  land,  what 


I'M  "A  GOOD  SAM-SOMETHING."  35 

a  handsome  man  lie  was,  the  likeliest  looking  I  ever  saw 
in  that  State  of  line-appearing  men. 

"Hullo,  Babe,"  he  said,  in  a  pleasant,  mellow  voice, 
"I  did  not  expect  to  meet  you/'' 

"Hullo,  Pa,"  she  answered,  without  glancing  at  him, 
"  Here  is  our  new  teacher,  Miss  Wilder." 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you,"  he  said,  politely,  "  I  hope  you 
will  tame  my  wild,  big  girl.  Ta,  ta,  dear."  He  whipped 
up  his  horse  and  went  galloping  on.  "  Has  he  been 
away,  Babe  ?"  I  asked,  as  she  started  the  broncho  with  a 
jerk  and  walked  sullenly  along  with  that  ugly  expres- 
sion still  on  her  face. 

"  As  long  as  the  Beaches  have,  four  weeks.  What 
do  you  think  of  him  ?  " 

"  The  handsomest  man  I  ever  saw,"  I  answered,  and 
he  was.  A  fine  physique,  a  marvelously  beautiful  face, 
a  winning  voice  and  manner — every  gift  of  nature,  but 
morally  depraved.  A  gambler,  drinking  hard,  but  polite 
even  then  to  those  outside  of  his  intimates,  unscrupulous, 
false  and  wicked,  and  yet  winning  the  friendship  easily 
of  honest  men.  Fve  seen  lots  like  him  since,  and  what 
mischief  such  can  make  in  a  wicked  world! 

"  Yes,  he  is  handsome,"  muttered  Babe,  after  a  long 
pause,  "but  I  hate  handsome  men.  That  poor,  frozen 
old  fool,  he  never  will  see."  And  after  that  speech 
she  wouldn't  talk,  leaving  me  in  sulky  silence.  For 
two  weeks  after  that  she  never  came  near  me,  and  one 
Sunday  afternoon,  though  she  had  forbidden  me,  with 
dark  insinuations  as  to  what  I  might  see,  never  to  go 
near  her  home,  I  boldly  mustered  up  my  courage  and 
went.     It  was  a  long,  tiresome  climb  up  a  narrow  trail 


36  BABE  MURPHY. 

on  a  mountain,  but  at  last,  ahead  in  a  clearing,  I  saw  a 
log  cabin,  and  near  it  a  heap  of  that  gray  ore  that  marks 
a  mine.  A  tall,  lank  greyhound,  that  I  knew  to  be 
Doc,  rose  from  the  doorstep  and  came  to  meet  me. 
He  is  a  dignified  animal  and  never  leaps  on  a  person  to 
tear  one's  clothing  or  scare  those  not  used  to  behavior 
of  the  sort,  so  he  merely  licked  my  hand  in  a  friendly 
way  as  I  good  doggied  him  timorously.  I  knocked 
and  a  hard-faced  woman  with  bleached  yellow  hair 
opened  the  door. 

"I  was  looking  for  Miss  Murphy, "  I  said,  coolly,  I'm 
not  afraid  of  women  at  all,  and  her  brazen  ways  did  not 
intimidate  me. 

"  Oh  you're  the  school  marm,"  she  grins,  impudent 
enough,  "Babe's  been  sick,  come  in.  Not  there — "  as 
I  turned  into  a  handsome  room,  its  oiled  floor  covered 
with  fine  bear  and  wolf  skins  set  with  costly  furni- 
ture, and  fine  paintings  on  the  walls — "that's  Con's 
room,  hers  is  t'other  side. "  I  opened  the  other  door, 
and  went  into  such  a  shabby  place,  with  roughly  plas- 
tered walls,  rickety  furniture,  one  broken-down  chair 
and  a  dingy  cot  bed.  On  a  nail  on  the  wall  hung  the 
faded  green  habit  and  some  nondescript  clothes,  on  a 
table  were  some  dusty  books  and  across  the  window  a 
newspaper  was  pinned  for  a  curtain.  The  place  was  hot, 
and  there  were  a  lot  of  flies  buzzing  about,  and  dear  me 
what  misery  to  be  sick  in  such  surroundings.  Under 
the  dirty  coverlid,  tossing  about  with  fevered  cheeks 
and  bright,  unnatural  eyes,  was  my  dear  girl. 

"Why  did  you  come,  Miss  Wilder,  to  see  me  like 
this?"  she  cried,  bitterly. 


I'M  "A  GOOD  SAM-SOMETHING."  37 

"  I  could  not  live  without  you,  you  dear  thing,"  I 
says,  and  took  her  in  my  arms.  How  hot  her  poor  head 
was,  and  her  beautiful  hair  all  in  a  tangle.  "Now  let 
me  fix  you  a  bit  and  beat  up  your  pillow  and  get  you 
a  clean  gown  and  sheets." 

"There  ain't  any  more,"  she  laughs,  miserably, 
"this  is  all  the  gown  I've  got — worn  it  two  weeks. 
Oh,  I'm  a  savage.  Go  away,  I  tell  you,  or  you'll  hate 
me." 

I  cast  my  eye  around  for  cologne  or  something  to 
bathe  her  head  with,  but  there  was  nothing,  not  even  a 
water-pitcher. 

"I  wash  in  the  kitchen,"  she  explained,  reading  my 
thoughts.  "  Oh,  I  do  wash  once  in  a  while.  There 
isn't  anything  here,  so  go  away  and  leave  me  alone. 
I've  got  mountain  fever,  and  you'll  catch  it." 

"Well,  of  all  forlorn  places  and  girls,"  I  thought, 
and  went  out  to  the  woman  who  I  saw  was  listening 
outside.  "  Marm,  could  you  get  me  a  pitcher  of  water?" 
I  asked,  politely  enough. 

"You  can  find  a  basin  in  the  kitchen,"  the  person 
answers,  and  flounces  her  stiff  petticoats  away. 

She  did  not  upset  me  a  mite,  for  I  went  to  that 
kitchen,  the  dirtiest  place  I  ever  saw,  and  found  a  filthy 
tin  basin  that  I  carefully  washed  and  filled  with  cool 
water  from  a  spring  near  the  back  door.  Not  a  towel 
could  I  find,  and  Babe  only  said  "  Pa  kept  his  for  him- 
self, and  must  not  get  one,"  but  I  did  all  the  same, 
invading  that  fine  room  and  finding  plenty  of  good 
damask  towels,  and  then  I  washed  her  dirty  face  and 
hands. 


38  BABE  MURPIIY. 

"  How  good  the  water  feels,"  she  said,  gratefully,  eye- 
ing me  as  I  pinned  my  dress  skirt  up.  "Your  petti- 
coat looks  like  you,  so  neat  and  precise;  must  have 
more  than  one,  too,  because  that's  tucked — your  other 
had  edging  on  it.  I  haven't  but  one.  I  always  think 
when  I  do  my  washing  of  that  Irishman,  who  had  to 
stay  abed  and  have  his  one  shirt  washed,  and  his  won- 
derfully philosophical  reply  when  his  wife  told  him  the 
goat  had  eaten  that  one,  'Them  as  have  must  lose/ 
Condensed  sunniness  and  unthrift  of  our  race!  I 
washed  in  the  spring  till  I  was  too  sick  to  crawl  out; 
face  hasn't  been  clean  for  a  week.  They'd  let  me  rot 
for  care.  Say,  for  Heaven's  sake,  don't  try  to  comb 
out  my  hair;  you  never  can." 

I  did  not  mind  her  talk.  I  said,  "I  won't  hurt 
you,  dear,"  and  discovered  a  broken-toothed  comb 
and  went  gently  to  work  smoothing  that  beautiful, 
neglected  hair,  and,  when  it  was  all  braided  nice, 
she  leaned  back  with  a  happy  sigh  and  took  my  hand 
and  kissed  it. 

"La,  don't  do  that,"  I  says,  "and  now  can't  you  eat 
a  bite,  dear." 

"How  good  you  are,  Miss  Wilder.  I  do  believe  you 
like  me,"  she  said,  looking  at  me  lovingly.  "No,  no, 
if  you  saw  Em's  cooking  you  couldn't  eat,  either.  Pa 
gets  his  meals  at  the  gambler's  club  in  town,  or  has 
them  sent  up.  I  live  anyhow  on  what  I  can  get  for 
myself,  so  as  I  can't  eat  now,  don't  you  bother  youself, 
and  Em's  cooking  is  rank  poison.'" 

"Is  Em  your  hired  girl?"  I  asked,  and  Babe  burst 
into  a  fit  of  wild  laughter. 


I'M  "A  GOOD  BAM  SOMETHING:'  39 

"  She's  Pa's  partner's  wife.  She  is  always  on  the 
brink  of  becoming  a  millionairess,  and  so  she  don't 
work  for  anyone.  She  used  to  be  a  dance-house  girl 
in  Leadville.  Her  husband  is  a  decent  fellow,  though 
how  he  came  to  marry  her  is  his  own  affair,  but  he 
treats  her  well,  sticks  to  his  work  and  expects  to  win 
some  day.  There,  don't  dig  up  any  more  skeletons, 
for  I'll  tell  you  more  than  I  want  to.  Just  go  along 
home,  you  good,  Sam — something — who  was  that  fel- 
low, anyway?" 

"If  you  mean  Samaritan,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "it 
wasn't  Sam  at  all,  and  you  clearly  never  went  to  Sun- 
day-school." I  fixed  her  comfortable  and  went  out 
then,  bat  not  home,  at  all — only  down  to  Hartman's,  a 
mile  away.  When  I  told  him  about  her,  he  hitched  up 
his  team  and  we  went  back  for  her.  She  tried  to  object, 
when  I  said  I  had  come  for  her,  but  she  was  fairly 
trembling  with  delight.  I  got  that  green  habit  on  her 
— all  the  whole  gown  she  had — and  Hartman  helped  her 
in  the  wagon,  where  she  could  lie  at  full  length,  her 
head  in  my  lap.  Mrs.  Finnerty  was  mightily  pleased 
to  have  her  with  us. 

"I'd  lay  down  my  life  for  Babe  Murphy,"  she  says  to 
me,  when  I  went  out  in  the  kitchen  to  make  a  cup  of 
tea,  Mrs.  Finnerty  having  some  insane  idea  it  must  boil 
half  an  hour,  "  didn't  she,  when  my  man  was  killed  in 
the  Maid  of  Erin,  go  to  that  shaft  right  after  the  blast 
an'  tell  them  min  if  they  wouldn't  go  down  to  see  if 
Mick  was  alive  she  would  herself  !  They  wasn't  sure 
the  blast  was  all  off  or  what  was  wrong,  but  they  wint 
and  brought  him  out  dead,  God  rist  his  sowl." 


40  BABE  MURPHY. 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  asking  Pa/'  said  Babe, 
when  I  brought  her  the  tea,  after  fixing  her  in  my  bed. 
"He  don't  care  where  I  am/' 

"Not  whether  you  are  home  nights  or  not?  "  I  asked, 
rather  shocked. 

"  Never  troubles  his  head  about  me." 

"  The  poor,  neglected  child,  with  that  hariot  living 
there,"  said  Mrs.  Finnerty,  but  Babe  silenced  her  with 
an  angry  look.  They  need  not  have  been  so  careful; 
I  knew  what  Mrs.  Daggett  was  at  a  glance,  and  I  would 
like,  before  I  took  Babe  away,  to  have  given  that  Em  my 
opinion  of  her  and  her  kind,  but  she  kept  out  of  the  way. 

That  evening,  when  Babe  was  asleep,  feeling  uneasy 
for  fear  Mr.  Murphy  might  be  worried — land!  wasn't 
the  man  her  father,  and  didn't  he  have  any  affections  at 
all? — I  went  out  along  the  road  where  I  often  saw  him 
ride  since  he  came  back.  I  didn't  see  anything  of 
him,  and  was  returning  along  a  shady  path  in  the  trees 
when,  just  ahead,  I  saw  a  tall  man  walking  with  a 
woman.  As  far  as  I  could  make  out,  he  had  his  arm 
around  her;  the  stars  were  all  the  light  there  was,  but  I 
can  see  pretty  well.  Then  I  heard  her  laugh,  such  a 
low,  sweet  laugh,  full  of  joy  and  passion,  of  clear  hap- 
piness, that  made  it  very  pleasant  to  hearken  to. 

" Oh,  you  wicked  Con,"  she  says.  "Now,  I  must  go 
no  further.  Bid  mo  good  night."  Bid  or  kiss,  I  could 
not  make  out,  for  belief  in  the  goodness  of  humankind 
I  will  say  bid,  though  I  think  the  other  word  most 
likely. 

Good  land!  they  wheeled  around  suddenly,  and  there 
I  was,  face  to  face  with  Con  Murphy  and  Mrs.  Beach. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MR.  BEACH  AIRS  HIS  SENTIMENTS  FREELY. 

Trust  a  woman  for  being  cool,  and  she  was.  She 
drew  away  from  him  not  a  mite  flustered,  and  before  I 
could  prevent,  was  actually  shaking  my  hand,  and  I'd  as 
soon  touched  a  striped  adder.  I  may  be  over  liberal  for 
a  New  England  woman,  but  a  wife  who  is  galivanting 
with  other  men  and  living  meantime  secure  in  the  trust 
and  affection  of  her  husband  and  on  his  money,  strikes 
me  as  the  meanest  creature  that  cumbers  the  earth. 
Be  done  with  one  man  first,  I  always  say. 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Wilder,"  Mrs.  Beach  said,  as 
polite  and  easy;  "you  startled  me  some,  I  admit.  Why 
do  you  never  come  up  to  my  house.  Mr.  Beach  speaks 
of  you  so  often,  we  have  made  our  plans  a  number  of 
times  to  visit  that  school  you  manage  so  well,  but  some- 
thing has  always  prevented  our  going." 

I  could  not  get  my  hand  away  from  her  cool,  soft 
fingers  and  I  was  fairly  dazed  at  the  change  in  her,  and 
how  chatty  and  pleasant  she  had  become,  but  I  will  say 
for  Murphy  that  he  did  look  sheepish. 

"Thank  you,  ma'am," I  answered,  stiffly,  "but  I  must 
go  home  now,"  and  if  a  person  can  believe  me,  I  actually 
felt  just  because  I  had  seen  those  two  that  I  was  being 
drawn  into  their  wickedness,  and,  true  enough,  after- 
wards by  some  trick  of  fate  and  my  own  weak-minded- 
ness, I  did  lend  them  the  favor  of  countenance,  me  a 
woman  in  whose  life  there  had  never  been  a  breath  of 

41 


42  BABE  MURPHY. 

scandal.  "I  came  out,"  I  continued,  "to  find  Mr. 
Murphy  and  ask  him  to  let  that  forsaken  child  of  his 
stop  with  me  till  she  is  well,  for  she  would  have  died  for 
lack  of  care  at  her  home." 

"Is  Babe  sick?"  said  Mrs.  Beach,  kindly,  "now 
that's  too  bad.  Of  course  she  will  stop  with  you  if  you 
want  her,  and  how  sweet  and  good  of  you,  Miss  Wilder." 

"I  was  asking  her  Pa,"  I  said,  coolly,  "not  you, 
ma'am." 

"What  I  say  goes,"  she  laughed  in  that  soft,  pleasant 
way,  "  don't  it^  Con.  That  pattern  father  never  knows 
whether  she  is  dead  or  alive.  The  result  of  an  early 
marriage.  He  was  only  nineteen  when  he  ran  away 
from  college  with  the  pretty  daughter  of  the  janitor. 
Early  marriages  are  deplorable,  don't  you  think  so?" 
She  laughed  wickedly,  "  Of  course  you  do.  Con,  Babe 
must  have  some  money,"  with  a  pretty  little  air  of 
anxiety,  "  Mrs.  Finnerty  must  be  paid  for  her  board." 

"She  is  no  burden  to  me,  and  I  never  thought  of 
money,"  I  snapped. 

At  last  Mrs.  Beach  had  let  go  my  hand  and  taken 
Murphy's  arm.  I  can't  swear  it,  but  I  verily  believe 
she  gave  him  the  roll  of  bills  he  handed  me.  They  were 
done  up  neat  as  a  woman  carries  money,  while  a  man 
generally  rumples  it  up  in  a  wad  like  it  had  been 
chewed. 

"  Take  this,  Miss  Wilder,"  he  said,  seriously,  "  and  do 
the  best  you  can  for  my  poor  girl,  and  I  am  sure  the 
Lord  will  bless  you." 

"I  wouldn't  take  your  money  at  all,"  I  answered 
stiffly,  "  if  it   were  not  that  that  poor  child  hasn't  ;i 


AIRS  HIS  SENTIMENTS  FREEL  7.  43 

decent  stitch  to  her  back,  and  as  for  that  blessing  it 
don't  hardly  sound  as  if  you  meant  it.  Fm  not  sure 
I'm  right  in  taking  the  money,  but  I  do  want  her  to  feel 
easy  in  her  mind,  and  she  won't  if  she  thinks  she's  cost- 
ing me  anything.  I  advise  you,  Mr.  Murphy,  to  ask  the 
Lord  to  soften  your  heart  to  your  own  flesh  and  blood, 
a  blessing  you  need  badly."  With  that  parting  shot,  I 
departed,  clutching  the  bills  for  fear  some  tramp  might 
snatch  'em  from  me  down  some  side  trail.  After  me, 
in  the  starlight,  floated  the  sweet,  musical  laugh  and  his 
deeper  tones. 

Babe  was  feverish  and  fretful,  Mrs.  Finnertysaid,  sol 
hurried  in,  fixed  her  bed  comfortable  and  beat  her 
pillows  up.  She  raised  her  long  lashes  and  looked  at 
me  gratefully. 

"  Now,  dear,  I  know  you  are  fretting  about  stopping 
here,  so  I  went  out  and  asked  your  father — " 

"  As  if  he  cared,"  she  interrupted,  wearily. 

"  And  asked  him  for  money,  so  you  could  stop  a  long 
time  and  feel  independent  a-doing  it." 

"Which  you  didn't  get,"  she  sneered. 

"Don't  jump  at  conclusions,  Miss  Impatience,"  I 
continued.  1  turned  up  the  lamp,  and,  sitting  on  the 
bed,  laid  the  bills  out  in  my  lap,  smoothing  each  one,  for 
I  had  crumpled  them  small  in  my  hand.  Two  twenties 
and  two  five-dollar  bills.     "  Fifty  dollars,  Babe." 

She  sat  up  in  bed,  looking  at  the  money  eagerly, 
then  she  gave  me  a  sharp,  quick  glance. 

"  Where  did  you  see  Pa  ?" 

"Out  doors,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  or  so  away  from 
here." 


44  BABE  MURPHY. 

<  * 

"  What  was  he  doing  ?  " 

"Sorter  of  meandering  along,"  I  answered,  evasively. 

"H'm,  don't  deceive  me,  you  sly  old  thing.  Wasn't 
Mrs.  Beach  with  him,  and  didn't  she  give  you  the 
money.  If  she  did,  Lydia  Ann  Wilder,  I'll  get  out  of  this 
bed,  go  straight  to  her  house  and  throw  it  in  her  face." 

"I've  got  your  clothes  so  you  can't,  Miss,  and  she 
did  not  give  me  the  money,  your  father  did."  That 
might  not  have  been  exactly  what  I  thought,  but  she 
should  never  know  otherwise.  "But  I  will  admit  she 
was  with  him,  and  I  should  like  to  know  if  she  thinks 
it  proper  a  galivating  about,  she  a  married  woman, 
with  a  widower  at  this  time  of  night." 

"I'm  not  sure  of  that  money,"  persisted  Babe,  "I 
can't  see  where  Pa  got  it." 

"  Maybe  won  a  jack  pot,"  I  suggested.  At  that  Babe 
screeched  with  laughter.  She  had  taught  me  to  play 
poker,  we  using  pebbles  for  chips,  and  not  betting 
money,  and  she  used,  to  tease  me  about  saying  I  had 
two  pairs,  and  betting  five  pebbles  one  time  I  had  four 
of  those  contrary-looking  queens. 

"  He  never  wins,  but  I'll  believe  you  and  let  it  go." 

"You  had  better,"  I  said,  composedly,  "for  out  of 
that  money  comes  some  decent  clothes  for  you,  made 
by  me,  for  I'm  a  good  seamstress,  and  some  under- 
clothes, for  I  tell  you,  my  dear,  the  first  attribute  of  a 
lady  is  attention  to  the  niceties  of  her  wardrobe." 

"  What  can  you  do  if  you  have  neither  clothes  nor 
money  to  buy  them  ?" 

"  That  shan't  happen  again,"  and  then  I  went  on  dis- 
coursing of  what  I  should  make. 


****  AIRS  HIS  SENTIMENTS  FREELY.  45 

t(  Oh,  put  lace  on  my  petticoats,  Miss  Wilder,"  said 
Babe,  with  a  bright,  eager  look,  sort  of  catching  her 
breath,  a  childish  way  she  had  when  anything  pleased 
her,  "  if  you  knew  how  I  have  envied  Mrs.  Beech,  for 
hers  are  so  dainty  and  fine.  I  would  be  so  proud.  Oh, 
I  just  love  good  clothes." 

"The  fault  of  our  sex,  Miss  Vanity,"  I  laughed,  but 
I  own  the  same  weakness,  and  that  poor  girl  had  never 
anything  nice  in  her  life. 

I  did  not  tell  her  about  just  how  I  saw  Mrs.  Beech 
and  her  father  walking  that  night  for  a  long  time  after- 
wards, though  I  won't  deny  I  was  dying  to,  and  to  say 
what  I  thought  of  them.  Babe  got  well  fast,  and  the 
poor  dear  tried  to  help  me  sew,  very  patient  and  clumsy, 
and  me  giving  her  the  overcasting  and  sewing  on  but- 
tons. I  can  see  her  yet,  working  so  hard,  her  pretty 
face  flushed  and  her  eyes  bent  on  the  work.  But  one 
day  Mrs.  Beech  herself  made  me  a  call,  and  of  course  I 
had  to  talk  about  it  to  some  one. 

I  heard  a  gentle  knock  just  after  reading  class  on 
Thursday  afternoon,  and  in  came  the  superintend- 
ent's wife,  in  the  daintiest  of  cream-colored  muslins 
trimmed  with  fine  lace  and  made  up  in  the  latest  style. 
Her  bonnet  was  to  match,  and  costly,  I  warrant,  as  all 
those  fairy-like  things  are,  and  she  had  a  cream  lace 
parasol,  and  tan  gloves,  and  brought  a  perfume  of  vio- 
lets that  lingered  long  after  she  was  gone.  How  smil- 
ing and  pleasant  she  was,  so  interested,  so  flattering, 
that  I  began  to  thaw  and  be  polite,  and  actually  prom- 
ised to  go  and  see  her.  Think  of  that,  after  what  I  had 
seen.     Is  it  in  the  air  here,  I  thought,  with  a  kind  of 


46  BABE  MURPHY. 

inward  groan.  Does  such  grandeur  of  nature,  of  mount- 
ain and  clouds,  make  human  beings  lenient  to  sin, 
being  as  we  are  such  minute  objects  in  the  face  of  such 
massive  and  majestic  scenery.  I  heard,  as  she  sat  there 
chatting,  my  eyes  seldom  lifted  from  her  dainty  French 
heeled  boots,  for  I  felt  the  guilty  one  and  could  not 
look  her  in  the  face — the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs  com- 
ing along  the  sun-baked  road.  Past  the  window  trotted 
that  big  bay  with  the  white  face,  and  his  rider,  the 
handsomest  man  in  the  Rockies,  lifted  his  sombrero  as 
he  looked  in.  A  slight  rose  tint  crossed  the  pale  face 
of  my  visitor,  and  with  a  fluttering  of  skirts  she  arose, 
picked  up  her  parasol,  pressed  my  hand  in  her  delicate 
glove  and  tripped  out  right  after  him.  I  could  only 
look  after  her  in  silent  wonder  and  keep  up  some  con- 
siderable thinking.  When  I  went  home  that  evening, 
I  was  so  gloomy  and  thoughtful  that  Babe  pulled  me 
down  on  the  sofa  beside  her  to  pet  me.  "Now,  what 
troubles  you?"  she  asked.  She  has  a  way  of  taking 
my  face  in  her  two  hands,  kissing  my  cheeks  till  they 
burn,  twisting  my  curls  to  suit  her  fancy,  then  holding 
me  off  to  admire  her  work  and  calling  me  an  old-fash- 
ioned darling.  Somehow  I  up  and  told  her  about  my 
visit,  and  Mrs.  Beach's  behavior  that  night  I  met 
her. 

"She  is  so  dreadful  polite  I  can't  say  a  word,"  I 
went  on,  "and  despite  myself  I  feel  that  I  am  being 
dragged  into  countenancing  their  wicked,  flirtatious 
ways.  Then  again,  sometimes,  I  find  myself  excusing 
her  for  being  tired  of  Beach,  he  is  such  a  frozen,  still' 
creature;  but  that  is  downright  evil." 


AIRS  HIS  SENTIMENTS  FREEL  Y.  47 

"You  dear  sinner.  You  will  get  as  helpless  as  I  am, 
but  we  will  do  our  best  though,  as  they  say,  they  are  a 
hard  pair  to  draw  to/'     And  so  indeed  I  found  them. 

Well,  Babe  improved  in  health  and  clothes  too,  and  I 
did  take  real  comfort  in  making  her  pretty  things,  she 
was  so  pleased.  I  made  her  two  cambric  gowns,  a  pink 
and  a  blue  one,  and  in  these,  with  a  wide  hat  lined  with 
black  velvet  and  trimmed  with  roses,  she  was  a  very  pic- 
ture. She  stayed  with  me  until  she  was  quite  well,  and 
then  insisted  on  going  home.  I  let  her  go  this  time, 
but  I  planned  a  day  when  I  would  try  to  get  her  to  live 
with  me,  but  as  her  father  might  be  mad  with  me  I  could 
not  ask  him  then.  The  afternoon  she  went,  up  drove 
Mr.  Beach  to  my  door,  for  me  to  go  to  his  house  to 
dinner.  There  was  no  evading  it,  so  while  he  waited  in 
solemn  state,  I  hurried  on  my  best  black  silk  and  fixed 
myself  in  my  Sunday  style.  He  was  fond  of  driving  if 
he  liked  anything,  so  on  this  occasion  came  himself 
instead  of  sending  the  coachman,  so  he  ex]olained  as 
we  went  along,  I  lolling  in  the  back  seat  always  think- 
ing to  my  inner  consciousness  that  I  must  look  like 
Mrs.  Wilder  "  as  if  one's  under  petticoat  was  a  back- 
board." He  was  very  kind  in  his  impressive  way,  ask- 
ing me  if  my  salary  was  sufficient,  if  I  was  suited,  and 
saying  he  was  really  proud  to  have  introduced  me  to 
Erin. 

He  turned  around,  as  the  horses  painfully  climbed  the 
steep  road  that  led  to  his  home,  to  say. 

"Mrs.  Beach  has  taken  quite  a  fancy  to  you,  Miss 
Wilder.  She  has  indeed,"  he  repeated,  slowly,  as  if 
the  condescension  might  be  too  much  for  me  to  grasp, 


48  BABE  MURPHY. 

"You  see  she  is  very  undemonstrative,  makes  no  ac- 
quaintances here  at  all,  nor  do  I  wish  her  to.  The 
people  here  are  not  of  her  station  in  life,  though  we 
are  Americans,  I  fancy,  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  we 
are  obliged  to  recognize  distinctions — castes.  She  has 
been  highly  educated,  carefully  guarded  always.  Her 
father  died  when  she  was  quite  young,  but  her  mother 
was  both  parents  in  one.  Truly  a  most  remarkable 
woman,  (and  I  thought  to  myself,  you  are  just  the 
man  to  eulogize  your  mother-in-law)  Clara  is  young, 
only  twenty  when  we  were  married  five  }Tears  ago,  but 
always  discreet  and  decorous.  As  her  mother  said,  she 
but  changed  a  mother's  care  for  a  husband's  protection 
and  affection.  She  is  absolutely  ignorant  of  the  world's 
wickedness.  When  you  see  us,  our  happy  home  life, 
her  innocent  dependence  on  my  judgment,  her  stately 
dignity  and  reserve,  the  greatest  charm  a  lady  can  have, 
her  pleasures  ordered  as  I  direct,  her  entire  reliance  on 
my  wiser  and  riper  opinions,  you  will  admit  my  choice 
was  a  fitting  one.  And  that,  though  I  am  nearly  twice 
her  age,  our  union  is  a  very  suitable  one." 

"It  is,  I  am  sure,"  I  had  to  say,  out  of  politeness,  but 
somehow  that  sweet,  mocking  laugh  kept  ringing  in  my 
ears,  and  that  night  under  the  pines.  A  great  pity 
came  into  my  heart  for  that  blind,  trusting  man,  into 
whose  cold  face,  as  he  talked  of  her,  came  a  sort  of 
light,  for  he  loved  her. 

"She  did  object,  I  may  say,  to  coming  here,"  he 
explained,  though  goodness  knows  why  he  took  me  into 
his  confidence.  "You  see,  her  mother  and  I  thought  it 
wiser  not  to  tell  her  her  home  would  be  in  the  mount- 


AIRS  HIS  SENTIMKX  TS  FREEL  7.  49 

ains;  we  let  her  surmise  she  would  live  in  New  York 
City.  She  was  disappointed  at  first,  and  unhappy  here, 
but  after  a  few  months  grew  more  contented,  and  now 
hardly  wishes  to  go  away,  even  to  visit  her  mother."  (I 
wondered,  in  my  wicked  way,  if  Con  made  the  differ- 
ence, if  she  grew  more  contented  after  she  knew  him. 
I'll  ask  Babe  how  long  that  flirtation  has  been  going  on, 
I  mentally  resolved.) 

He  turned  the  horses  into  a  pleasant  avenue  under  the 
mountain  pines,  up  to  a  clearing  where  a  picturesque 
cottage,  gay  with  bright  paint  and  vines,  stood. 
Around  it  were  flower  beds  and  a  neat  lawn,  and  a  rust- 
ling, noisy  brook  had  been  trained  from  its  course  to 
run  through  the  grounds.  It  always  seemed  to  me  if  I 
built  a  home  it  should  be  near  a  stream  of  running 
water,  the  most  peaceful  and  content-giving  sound  on 
earth.  The  house  had  two  stories,  a  wide  verandah  all 
around  it,  and  its  handsome,  plate-glass  windows  were 
hung  with  costly  lace,  and  though  it  was  hidden  away 
up  in  the  Rockies,  the  furnishing  was  the  finest  I  ever 
saw. 

Mrs.  Beach  was  sitting  on  the  porch,  some  scarlet 
wool  in  her  lap,  her  ivory  needles  moving  languidly  in 
her  white  hands.  She  rose  to  meet  me  with  polite  but 
distant  welcome,  made  me  remove  my  bonnet,  while 
Beach  brought  me  a  chair.  I  noticed  her  rich  gown,  of 
some  soft,  silky  material,  a  pale  rose  tint,  trimmed  with 
the  rich  lace  she  seemed  to  care  most  about,  using  it 
with  almost  prodigality,  when  it  comes  so  high  by  the 
yard.  She  sparkled  with  diamonds,  as  usual,  and  they 
seemed,  somehow,  to  suit  her  bright,  flashing  glances, 


BABE  yrCEPIlY. 

:old  and  brilliant  as  herself.  Dear  me.  I  thonght, 
looking  about,  why  on  earth  can't  you  be  contented  and 
behave?     Hare  you  not  all  heart  could  wish  for? 

"  That  is  1  Beach,  sitting  stiffly  down  in  a 

porch  chair,  and  regarding  his  wife  with  that  sort  of 
light  in  his  cold  face,  "the  most  exquisite  feminin 
marks  her  a.  A  bit  of  woman's  pretty  work 

dainty  presence,  the  most  delightful  part  of  a  m. 
home  life,  a  perfect  wife. 

She  kx:::        r  lowly,  her  eyes  on  her  work,  her  long 
lashes  on  her  pale  cheeks. 

•There  are  literary  women,"  continued  Mr.  Beach, 
pompously  leaning  back  in  hi3  chair  and  putting  his 
thin  forefinge:         .   :her,  "  dear  me,  am  I  treading  on 
r:  :  •.:::      Miss  Wildea 

ill,  unless  supervising  very  doubtful  school 
compos  ::iay  be  literary,  sir." 

-  portion  of  your  duties,  eh?  Well,  literary  women, 
I  .we  been  led  to  believe,  have  not  that  regard  for  per- 
sonal :  :hat  marks  a  true  woman — th 

e  vanities  of  dress  and  jewelry  that  we  may  smile 
about,  as  men  do,  but,  nevertheless,  admire  and  like  to 
see:  At  least,  barring  this,  women  who  presume  on 
intellect  are  apt  to  be  argumentative.  Xow  I  hold,  for 
material  happiness,  a  wife  should  have  no  opinion  but 
her  husband's 

•  •  For  peace  in  the  hous^ .     */*  I  a  ys. 

•I  beg   jour  pardon;  oh,  I  understand,  you  mean 
for     amicable     understanding;      cer:  riainly. 

man"  sort  of  pause,  as  if  he  were  condemn- 

ing our  race  forever  and  ever,  amen,  u  iildren 


AIBS  1TI3  SENTIMEJS  TS  FEEEL  7  51 

used  to  say,  "can  not  reason.  That  is  a  very  trite  argu- 
ment, I  know,  but  her  affections,  her  little  loves  and 
hates,  dislikes,  I  mean,  are  sure  to  control  her.  She  is 
a  creature  of  emotion,  of  dependence,  to  be  guarded  and 
cared  for  always." 

"Yet,"  I  snapped,  "widows  and  orphans  only  dread 
men — lawyers,  I  mean,  for  they  are  always  worsted 
by  men  who  take  advantage  of  women's  ignorance  of 
life  and  rights.  As  for  me,  the  world  would  be  a  para- 
dise if  it  were  not  for  men.  You  say  they  are  to  guard 
and  protect  us  women,  but  what  am  I  scared  of,  what 
keeps  me  indoors,  in  beaten  paths,  from  seeing  the 
world  as  men  see  it,  without  dread  or  fear?  Why,  just 
men,  tramps  and  others  like  them!  But,"  I  went  on, 
wickedly,  seeing  how  terrible  shocked  he  looked, ' '  Wo- 
men's voting  may  change  things,  perhaps  make  discord 
if  a  wife  is  a  Democrat  and  her  husband  on  the  other 
side." 

"Do  not,  I  implore  you,  refer  to  woman  suffrage 
before  Clara,"  said  Beach,  earnestly,  "not  that  the 
persons  advocating  it  are  not — he  hesitated  for  a  word 
not  to  offend  her  delicate  sensibilities — not  worthy  and 
respectable,  but  they  are  persons  one  would  not  wish 
his  wife  to  know." 

"They  are  very  tiresome,"  said  Mrs.  Beach,  still 
downcast,  and  dear  me,  what  an  awful  botch  she 
made  of  this  knitting;  a  child  ten  years  old  could  have 
done  better. 

"  As  a  study  in  humanity,  they  interest  a  man,"  he 
explained,  "but  a  woman  should  not  vex  her  pretty 
head  with  ideas  outside  her  station.     No  man  wishes  to 


52  BABE  MURPHY. 

be  bothered  at  home  with  business  cares,  nor  to  talk 
over  the  affairs  of  the  nation  (pompously,  as  if  it  was  a 
property  of  his  own),  along  with  domestic  happenings 
and  the  fashions.  (I  kept  feeling  as  if  some  one  was 
sticking  pins  in  me,  and  said,  then  and  there,  I  believe 
Fd  go  galivanting,  too,  just  to  feel  like  a  live  woman 
once  in  a  while.)  It  interests  and  pleases  a  man  to 
find  a  new  and  serene  life  at  home,  to  chat  with  his 
wife  on  the  little  happenings  in  her  day,  the  calls,  the 
troubles  in  domestic  affairs,  the  last  book  she  has  read, 
her  pretty  ideas  about  it.  The  atmosphere  of  purity 
and  unworldliness  is  a  rest  to  him,  and  he  smokes  his 
after-dinner  cigar  in  perfect  freedom  from  thought  and 
anxiety,  listening  to  her  cheerful  conversation.  I  never 
see  a  lady  with  her  dainty  work,  her  gentle  ways,  her 
delicate  hands,  but  I  think  how  much  devolves  upon 
men  to  guard  and  protect  her.  Really,  Miss  Wilder,  so 
thoroughly  a  womanly  person  as  yourself  is  greatly  to 
be  praised  for  taking  an  interest  in  so  singular  a  young 
girl  as  Miss  Murphy.  She  is  totally  unrestrained  and 
untaught." 

"She  has  the  making  of  a  noble  woman  in  her,"  I 
said,  "and  your  idea  of  bringing  a  woman  up  to  be  a 
helpless  doll  is  a  bad  one  for  her  future,  if  she  must 
ever  battle  with  the  world  It  ends  in  the  lunatic 
asylum  or  poorhouse." 

"I  differ  with  you  in  regard  to  Miss  Murphy,"  he 
said,  with  that  aggravating  arrogance  there  was  no 
gainsaying,  and  entirely  ignoring  my  last  remark,  "but 
I  honor  your  charity.  Permit  me  to  make  myself  pre- 
sentable for  dinner." 


AIRS  HIS  SENTIMENTS  FllEEI  Y.  53 

Though  there  was  not  a  speck  of  dust  on  him,  he 
creaked  stiffly  into  the  house.  When  he  was  gone, 
Mrs.  Beach,  with  a  sigh  of  impatience,  dropped  her 
needles,  and,  by  a  series  of  quick  jerks,  unraveled  all 
she  had  knitted.  She  gathered  up  the  crumpled  worst- 
ed and  flung  it  into  the  brook  below  the  porch,  where 
it  sailed  merrily  away  on  the  swift  current. 

"You  were  mentally  making  fun  of  it,"  she  said, 
with  that  mocking  look.  "  I  hate  fancy  work,  but  it 
serves  to  pull  wool  over  a  fool's  eyes.  He  will  never 
know  whether  I  finish  anything  or  not,  as  long  as  I  am 
feminine." 

When  he  returned  she  laid  her  work  down,  and  with 
her  chilly  smile  invited  me  into  a  daintily  served  din- 
ner, where  I  ate  off  the  most  elegant  china  and  silver  I 
ever  saw.  They  had  champagne,  and  Mr.  Beach  had 
his  wife  and  me  served  with  the  tinniest  glasses  of  it. 

"A  woman's  eating  is  almost  a  poem,"  he  smiled, 
blandly.  "They  never  have  gross  appetites  like  men. 
(Dear  me,  I  was  hungry,  but  I  dare  not  eat  after  that, 
but  remembered  Mrs.  Finnerty  had  some  cold  beans  in 
the  pantry,  and  made  my  plans  accordingly  for  a  raid 
when  I  got  home.)  Merely  a  sup  of  wine  satisfies 
Clara,  and  I  have  to  insist  on  her  taking  that." 

Later,  he  assured  me  that  Clara  and  he  had  had  an 
argument  over  riding,  but  he  had  been  compelled  to 
refuse  her  wish  for  a  saddle  horse.  Ladies  did  ride  with 
perfect  propriety,  it  was  quite  a  fashion  in  England,  but 
Clara  was  too  timid  and  delicate,  and  he  could  not  spare 
the  time  to  be  her  cavalier.  All  through  his  talk  she 
sat  in  her  quiet,  downcast  way,  never  opposing  him  by 


54  BABM  MURPHY. 

look  or  word.  When  he  discoursed  on  the  porch,  smok- 
ing his  cigar,  she  listened  attentively,  her  ringed  hands 
in  her  lap,  her  long  lashes  veiling  those  brilliant  eyes. 
But  he  tired  me  to  death,  froze  every  healthy  idea  I 
had,  and  seemed,  in  his  placid  way,  to  grind  down  every 
hope  I  ever  had,  to  condense  into  a  conversation  my 
lifelong  bitterness,  beginning  when  my  mother  told  me 
a  hot  July  day,  it  wasn't  proper  for  little  girls  to  go  in 
swimming,  and  the  boys  went  and  gloated  over  it  to 
me.  But  that  is  very  long  ago,  and  now  little  girls  can 
go  on  the  beach,  in  the  waves,  and  big  girls,  too,  in 
shocking  costumes,  and  that  dreary  "not  ladylike" 
does  not  come  ivp  like  Banquo's  ghost  to  spoil  every 
pleasure  in  a  female's  life. 

I  did  pity  that  husband  though,  for  his  face  changed 
when  he  looked  at  his  wife,  he  loved  her,  if  he  did  stifle 
her,  and  I  kept  wondering  if  a  tragedy  would  ever  hap- 
pen in  the  purple  shadows  of  those  towering,  gloomy 
mountains,  and  if,  under  that  icy  exterior  that  Mrs. 
Beach  had  assumed,  there  were  not  hidden  fires  that 
some  day  would  burst  forth  with  terrible  force. 

She  made  some  request  to  be  allowed  to  drive  down 
with  me.  "You  were  speaking  of  a  headache,  Clara/' 
he  said,  solemnly,  "when  I  asked  you  to  drive  this  after- 
noon/' and  she  replied,  "  Yes,  Henry,"  and  said  no 
more. 

The  coachman,  Lewis  Jones,  a  good-looking  mulatto, 
drove  me  home,  and  when  we  turned  down  a  quiet,  shady 
lane,  I  saw,  waiting  for  us  at  a  side  trail,  that  white- 
faced  horse.  I  saw  his  rider.  Con  Murphy,  take  a  letter 
from  the  coachman,  and  give  one   in  return  that  the 


AIRS  BIS  SENTIMENTS  FEE  EL  Y.  55 

negro  buttoned  carefully  in  his  inside  pocket.  I 
thought  as  we  drove  on,  Murphy  not  appearing  to  see 
me,  of  the  dangerous  path  those  two  were  treading,  and 
the  constant  menace  that  servant's  knowledge  was,  the 
cost  and  insecurity  of  it.  I  began  to  feel  a  curious  pre- 
sentiment that  never  left  me  until  the  end.  Supersti- 
tion is  heightened  by  a  weird,  mountain-walled  country 
with  all  its  strange  stories  of  the  past,  and  its  terrible 
convulsions  of  nature,  and  I  dreaded  more  and  more 
the  time  to  come. 

I  saw  her  standing  with  her  self-repressed  look  by 
the  side  of  that  unconscious,  absorbed  and  arrogant 
man,  in  the  blare  of  light  streaming  from  the  open 
door  of  their  pretty  home.  It  seemed  so  fair  and  serene 
a  picture,  but  in  contrast  I  remembered  a  shady  path 
under  the  stars,  a  woman's  sweet,  mocking  laughter,  a 
voice  that  said,  "  Oh,  you  wicked  Con/'  and  I  groaned 
as  I  watched  the  carriage  go  away  from  my  door,  "Ver- 
ily, I  have  fallen  into  strange  places."  Then  I  went  in, 
and  satisfied  my  material  appetite,  their  troubles  were 
none  of  my  making  or  helping,  and  despite  Mr.  Beach's 
remark,  my  eating  was  not  a  poem. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

BABE  MURPHY  HOLDS  HER  OWN. 

After  that,  circumstances  forced  me  to  go  to  the 
Beaches  often.  It  was  sort  of  pathetic  how  Beach 
wanted  me  to  come  because  I  was  quiet  and  ladylike  and 
he  hoped  Clara  would  be  amused  by  my  visit. 

' '  But  she  is  satisfied  with  so  little  and  we  are  so  con- 
tented/' he  would  add,  with  that  brighter  gleam  in  his 
cold  eyes. 

One  day  she  asked  me  to  post  a  letter  to  Murphy  who 
had  gone  to  Denver,  when  I  refused  with  the  scorn  of 
an  honest  woman,  she  only  laughed. 

"You  would  find  me  a  good  friend  if  you  helped  me, 
Miss  Wilder,  if  you  did  not  need  favors  I  could  aid  that 
wild  protege  of  yours.     Don't  make  me  an  enemy/' 

"  She  wouldn't  take  your  help." 

"  But  all  the  same  you  know  those  new  gowns  of  hers 
were  paid  for  with  my  money.  Con  never  has  a  cent. 
Don't  look  so  outraged,  you  knew  it  that  night,  but  I'll  try 
to  believe  she  does  not.  She  is  a  good,  consistent  hater." 

"  So  am  I,"  I  said,  "  and  I  am  not  a  mite  afraid  of 
you.  Nor  do  I  respect  your  opinion,  you  deceiving  a 
good  husband,  and  though  I  don't  know  whether  you 
are  indulging  in  a  silly  school-girl  flirtation  or  some- 
thing worse,  I  have  my  thoughts  of  your  conduct,  not 
flattering  at  all  to  you  ma'am." 

"It's  the  school-girl  kind  yet,"  she  said  slowly,  not  a 
bit   mad  with  me,   "you  strait-laced  old    Puritan   are 

56 


HOLDS  HER  OWN.  57 

all  the  time  wondering  how  I  endure  Beach,  you  are 
chilled  and  I,  seeing  him  every  day,  have  frozen  to  death 
long  ago.  You  have  a  sneaking  desire  to  excuse  me  a 
little  when  you  wrestle  with  that  elastic  conscience  of 
yours." 

"  You  may  be  a  smart  woman,  with  impish  ways  of 
knowing  thoughts,"  I  said,  "  but  sometimes  after  these 
long  cold  winters,  where  freezing  to  death  is  common, 
there  comes  a  moving  mountain,  an  avalanche  that 
carries  all  away  with  it." 

"  Sinners  like  me  ?  " 

"  You  are  like  to  be,"  I  answered,  thinking  of  my 
presentiment,  "and  you  had  better  look  to  your  ways." 

"  You  are  a  good  soul,  Wilder,"  she  laughed,  "keep 
to  your  narrow  little  path,  but  don't  get  mad  and  not 
come  here,  you  are  the  only  chance  of  salvation  I  have." 

"  But  I  feel  like  an  accessory  to  your  wickedness,"  J 
says. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it  ?  "  she  mocked 
at  me,  laughing  merrily  for  her,  and  then  Beach  came 
out,  we  were  sitting  on  the  porch,  and  she  froze  up 
again. 

"  I  like  to  see  you  smiling  and  happy,  dear,"  he 
beamed  on  her,  "our  little  friend  must  come  often,  she 
cheers  you  so." 

When  the  carriage  whirled  me  home  that  evening, 
Jones  carrying  a  letter  to  post  to  Murphy,  I  clenched 
my  small  fist  in  silent  despair.  "Oh,  you  fool  man," 
I  said,  "Why  don't  you  see?  Is  it  the  way  you  are  to 
be  punished  for  self  righteousness  and  conceit  ?  Just 
because  she  is  your  wife  she  can't  be  a  mortal  woman. 


58  BABE  MURPHY. 

Drat  you  there,  I  groaned,  just  go  your  senseless  way,  I 
won't  bother  my  head  any  more." 

Con  Murphy  got  back  a  week  later  and  brought  four 
Englishmen  with  him,  who  were  going  to  put  some 
money  in  that  hole  in  the  ground  he  called  his  mine, 
the  Englishman  being  a  natural  prey,  for  his  thick- 
headedness, for  any  miner  that  has  the  chance  to  work 
him.  Mrs.  Beach  after  my  talk,  and  I  don't  say  it 
with  self  conceit,  had  what  she  called  a  conscience 
spell  and  was  huffy  with  Murphy,  acting  like  a  respecta- 
ble married  woman. 

"  You  had  better  keep  mad  all  the  time/'  I  said  to 
her  one  evening  when  she  drove  down  to  see  me,  "  It 
will  save  your  soul.''' 

"Don't  flatter  yourself  it  is  your  talk,"  she  says;  "  I 
am  angry  that  he  has  got  that  crowd  of  men  up  there 
and  he  is  drinking  all  the  time.  He  don't  need  their 
money,  he  knows  he  can  get  plenty  for  all  he  needs 
from  me." 

"  He  may  dislike  being  fed  by  Beach,"  I  said,  as  ugly 
as  I  could. 

"Not  he,  and  I  charge  it  to  housekeeping  ex- 
penses," she  laughed.  "It  costs  us  so  much  to  live. 
Con  hasn't  a  scruple,  I  would  not  care  about  him  if  he 
had.  Say  (hesitating)  would  you  mind  asking  Babe, 
for  yourself  you  know,  and  you  really  ought  for  her 
comfort,  if  there  are  any  women  up  there — Mrs.  Dag- 
gett's friends  you  know?" 

It  was  jealousy,  now  I  saw  plain  enough.  I  heard  in 
the  village  Con  was  on  a  big  spree,  and  he  and  his 
friends  rode  so  recklessly  it  wasn't  safe  to  be  out  on  the 


HOLDS  II ER  OWN.  59 

roads  at  night,  for  one  would  be  run  down.  Most  men 
when  they  drink  must  abuse  some  animal,  if  they  ain't 
married  to  a  broken-spirited  creature  to  aggravate 
instead. 

ie  Do  your  own  spying,  ma'am,"  I  snapped,  "but  the 
Lord  pity  that  poor  child  up  there." 

As  usual,  she  made  me  go  home  to  dinner  with  her, 
and  I  will  say  right  here  I  did  like  Clara  Beach.  I  can't 
explain  it  and  never  shall,  but  I  did.  That  night 
when  the  carriage  came  to  take  me  home,  she  left  her 
husband  and  went  down  the  steps  with  me. 

"You  said  c the  Lord  pity  Babe/  this  afternoon, 
Wilder,  you  may  well  say  it,  fair  and  square  that  is  a 
dreadful  place  for  her,  but  (maliciously),  she  is  used  to 
it.  I  was  asking  Miss  Wilder  for  a  pattern,  Henry,  a 
table  scarf,"  she  said,  coolly,  "  she  has  so  much  taste." 
He  smiled  very  condescendingly  on  us  both,  as  if,  in  our 
feeble  feminine  way,  we  amused  him. 

On  the  road  I  had  a  mean  kind  of  a  thought  that  it 
was  really  fair  sport  to  hoodwink  that  aggravating  man, 
but  I  was  worried  about  my  dear  girl,  and  when  we 
reached  the  trail  that  led  to  her  home,  1  told  Jones  to 
let  me  out.  He  kind  of  grinned,  as  I  saw  plain  in  the 
moonlight,  when  he  stopped  his  horses,  and  I  drew  my- 
self up  and  looked  at  him. 

"Jones,  none  of  that  suspicioning,"  I  said,  sternly, 
"I'm  a  decent  woman,  as  decent  as  Beach.  I  can't  be 
bought  to  no  messaging  ways.  If  you  sell  your  chances 
of  salvation,  I  don't  need  to,  and  I  am  going  to  look 
after  Murphy's  daughter,  that  I  have  not  seen  for  three 
days,  I  ain't  right  in  my  mind  about  her." 


60  BABE  MURPHY. 

"  Deed,  Miss,  I'se  sorry  I  grinned,  guess  I  was  tinkin' 
of  su nith in'  pleasant,  thought  you  was  gittin'  terrible 
mysterious  all  of  a  sudden.  Babe's  a  good  girl,  and 
Hart  man  will  tell  yon  there's  lots  of  times  when  she's 
run  down  to  his  house  in  her  nightgown  when  there 
was  a  row  up  there,  don't  take  but  a  bottle  to  make  a 
fool  of  Con  Murphy,  and  about  three  to  make  him  fight- 
ing ugly." 

I  picked  up  a  stout  club  and  went  along  the  trail,  I 
was  afraid,  of  mountain  lions  and.  all  sorts  of  creatures. 
It  was  very  dark  and.  still  under  the  trees,  and  Hart- 
man's  house,  when  I  passed,  was  shut  up  and  everybody 
gone  to  bed.  So  T  gave  up  the  idea  of  asking  him  to 
go  along.  At  the  cabin  Babe's  room  was  dark,  but  her 
father's  brilliantly  lighted  and  the  door  stood  open.  I 
did  not  see  the  dog  anywhere,  as  I  crept  nearer  the  house, 
and  surmised  she  was  out  on  one  of  those  daring  gal- 
lops of  hers.  At  a  card  table  in  Con's  100m  was  Dick 
Daggett,  a  heavy-set,  sullen-looking  man,  playing  cards 
with  two  of  the  Englishmen.  The  side- board  was 
covered  with  bottles,  lots  of  empty  ones  on  the  floor, 
and  by  the  stacks  of  chips  on  the  tables,  were  glasses 
of  whisky,  I  surmised.  -The  guests  at  the  game  were  sort 
of  red-faced  and  heavy-eyed,  but  Daggett  was  cool  and 
alert,  and  I  saw  his  wife  making  signs  to  him,  about  the 
hands  held  I  suppose,  as  she  fixed  a  lunch  on  a  side 
table.  In  a  big  chair  that  was  covered  by  a  grizzly 
bear  skin  lay  Con  Murphy,  asleep.  "What  a  handsome 
man  he  was,  even  when  he  wasn't  sober,  as  graceful  as 
could  be  in  position,  his  long  lashes  on  his  pale  cheeks, 
for  liquor  never  made  him  red,  only  ghastly,  and  one 


HOLDS  HER  OWN.  61 

slender  hand  lying  careless  on  the  arm  of  \\\q  chair. 
Hard  work  did  not  hurt  those  hands  much,  nor  dim  the 
diamond  on  his  little  finger,  that  brazen  Clara  Beach 
told  me  she  gave  him,  and  that  he  flaunted  it  in  Beach's 
face,  and  that  poor  soul  never  knew  he  had  given  it  to 
his  wife. 

"1  tell  you,  Marsh,"  said  a  voice,  so  close  to  the 
bushes  where  I  was  that  I  was  sure  I  would  be  seen,  "she 
was  the  finest  looking  specimen  of  womankind  I  have 
seen  in  the  West.  About  eight  I  noticed  the  door  across 
the  hall  open  and  a  woman  in  a  riding  habit  come  out. 
She  went  along  in  the  shadow,  a  fine  greyhound  follow- 
ing her,  and  a  moment  after  I  heard  her  ride  away.  I 
quit  the  game  a  half  hour  ago,  been  waiting  for  her  to 
come  back.  I  asked  Murphy  if  he  had  any  lodgers 
here  and  he  only  glared  at  me,  and  Daggett  said — a  cur, 
that  fellow — none  that  you'll  know — so  I  mean  to  solve 
the  mystery  myself." 

I  was  glad  for  once  that  I  was  small,  and  crouched 
lower  in  the  bushes,  the  smoke  of  their  cigars  floated 
right  in  my  face,  they  were  so  near.  A  moment  later  I 
heard  a  rustling  beside  me,  and  the  greyhound  put  his 
cold  nose  against  my  cheek.  I  was  glad  he  was  not  the 
barking  kind,  I  tell  you.  I  patted  him  softly,  and  above 
the  beating  of  my  heart  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  horse's 
hoofs.  They  stopped  in  the  woods,  and  there  was  the 
clink  of  straps  being  unbuckled,  something,  a  saddle, 
flung  in  the  bushes,  and  then,  looking  unreally  tall  and 
strange  in  the  moonlight,  my  dear  girl  passed  close  be- 
side me.  Don't  misjudge  me  that  I  did  not  warn  her. 
I  was  in  a  strange  country  among  people  who  had  queer 


62  BABE  MURPHY. 

ideas  of  morals,  a  good  many  of  them,  and  I  wanted  to 
see  what  maimer  of  a  girl  Babe  was.  I  loved  her  dearly, 
but  her  life  had  not  been  the  kind  to  make  a  woman 
true  and  good,  and  I  did  want  the  last  lingering  doubt 
I  had  of  her,  not  her  present,  but  her  past,  to  be  dis- 
pelled. I  would  not  raise  my  hand  to  save  her  from 
herself,  but  I  knew  from  Daggett's  honest,  ugly  face  he 
would  protect  her,  if  she  needed  it. 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  you,"  said  the  man,  his 
friend  called  Preston,  stepping  up  beside  her;  "I  saw 
you  go  out."  She  did  not  speak  to  him,  but  stood  up 
very  straight  and  proud,  looking  at  him  with  her  bright, 
fearless  eyes.  He  had  been  drinking  some,  for  his 
speech  was  thick,  and  I  lay  his  rudeness  to  the  liquor. 
"I  asked  Murphy  who  you  were,"  he  went  on,  famil- 
iarly, "but  he  wasn't  inclined  to  answer.  A  pretty  girl 
like  you  ought  to  have  a  cavalier.  Are  you  not  afraid 
to  ride  alone  so  late  ?" 

"Our  miners  are  gentlemen,"  she  said,  scornfully, 
"only  from  men  of  your  stamp  do  I  fear  insult."  In 
the  quiet  hand  that  held  the  folds  of  her  skirt,  she  held 
that  ugly  whip,  and  I  watched  it  with  a  strange  fasci- 
nation. Her  dog  sprang  up  and  stood  beside  her,  and 
if  those  two  men  had  been  sober,  they  must  have  seen, 
that  in  all  England,  there  was  not  a  truer,  sweeter 
woman  than  that  poor  girl,  brought  up,  or  not  brought 
up  but  growing  wild,  in  a  lawless  mining  camp. 

"That  is  idle  talk  from  a  woman  living  here," said 
Preston,  "  can't  one  see  what  Daggett's  wife  is.  Pshaw, 
we  know  the  world,  and,  my  dear  girl,  I  am  ever  so 
much  richer  than  that  fool  with  his  mine  that  never 
will  pay  a  dollar." 


EOJ.BS  ITER  OWN.  63 

"Kindly  allow  me  to  pass/"  she  said,  coolly,  not  a 
tremor  in  her  voice,  her  very  courage  a  challenge. 

"After  that  speech,  indeed  not.  Oh,  come  now,  what 
do  you  gain  with  that  drunken  fool?  You  are  too 
handsome  a  girl  to  be  shut  up  in  this  mining  camp. 
Don't  fancy  we  are  so  green,  as  you  Americans  say, 
that  we  don't  know  what  kind  of  a  place  this  is,  and 
the  sort  of  people  that  are  trying  to  rob  us.  Only 
where  have  you  been  all  the  time,  why  were  you  not 
in  the  other  night  ?" 

"It  was  jolly  fun,  don't  you  know,"  said  the  other 
man. 

She  was  too  proud  to  say  Con  Murphy  was  her  father, 
the  man  so  lost  to  all  honor  that  he  could  not  protect 
her.     "  Please  let  me  pass  ?  "  she  said,  quietly. 

"By  —  no,"  said  Preston,  "your  talk  don't  deceive 
me  at  all,  you  might  as  well  listen  to  reason."  He  put 
out  his  arm  to  bar  her  way.  I  saw  her  hand  tremble  a 
moment  in  the  folds  of  her  skirt,  she  stepped  back,  and 
then  I  heard  something  swish  in  the  air,  followed  by  an 
ugly  thud,  and  she  had  struck  him  fair  in  the  face  with 
that  whip  handle.  Then,  womanlike,  she  caught  up 
her  skirts  and  ran  to  the  house.  Both  the  men  followed, 
and  the  language  of  one  of  them  was  not  pleasaut 
to  hear. 

"What  kind  of  a  she-devil  have  you  got  here?"  said 
Preston,  bursting  into  the  room,  that  livid  mark  across 
his  face.   "By —  Murphy,  you'll  answer  to  me  for  this." 

Con  opened  his  handsome  eyes.  "Some  of  Babe's 
work, "he  muttered,  "why  can't  she  keep  out  of  the 
way.  I  say  it's  too  bad  and  she'll  apologize."  He 
staggered  to  his  feet  and  crossed  the  hall. 


64  BABE  MURPHY. 

"Con,  let  her  alone,"  called  Dick,  anxiously.  He  had 
a  good  hand  in  the  game  and  did  not  want  to  lose  a 
bet. 

"I  say  she'll  apologize  to  my  fren'," persisted  Con, 
shaking  her  door,  and  she  suddenly  flung  it  open  and 
passed  him. 

"Dick,  I  appeal  to  your  protection,"  she  said,  piteous- 
ly;  and  how  white  she  was  now,  her  pretty  eyes  so 
frightened  and  bright,  her  hair,  loosened  by  her  ride, 
falling  about  her  shoulders,  "when  my  father  is  so 
lost  to  decency  he  forces  me  into  the  presence  of  his 
friends. "  The  strangers  looked  at  her  in  a  sort  of  con- 
fused surprise,  the  two  players  with  a  quiet  amusement. 
"Don't  make  a  scene,  Babe?"  pleaded  Dick,  intent  on 
the  game. 

"Why  don't  you  stay  in  your  room?"  growled  Con. 
"There  is  no  safety  there  now,"  she  cried,  miserably, 
"nor  anywhere  with  you,  father,  when  your  compan- 
ions are  men  like  these." 

"Well,  go  somewhere  else/' he  muttered. 
"That  she  will,"  said  I,  for  I  was  waiting  by  the  front 
door  for  her,  "after  this  her  father  has  no  claim  upon 
her.  Come  my  dear," I  went  on,  taking  her  hand,  "I 
can  offer  you  protection  and  a  safe  refuge,  and  I  would 
like  these  strangers  to  know  that  you  are  a  true,  good 
girl,  which  they  must  have  seen  if  they  were  not  bliuded 
by  liquor,  and  if  they  are  not  sorry,  the  two  that 
insulted  you,  men  must  have  deteriorated  sadly,  and 
the  English  gentleman  must  exist  only  in  novels." 

"Why  don't  you   go,  Babe?"  said  Dick,  quickly,  for 
Murphy  had  taken  a  glass  of  brandy  and  was  turning 


HOLDS  HER  OWN.  65 

with  blazing  eyes  and  angry  lips  to  say  something  to  her. 

"I  will,  Dick," she  said,  firmly,  "and  so  help  me 
Heaven,  I  will  never  set  foot  in  my  father's  house 
again." 

"Your  daughter,  Murphy?"  said  Marsh,  as  we  went 
away,  "why  in  —  did  you  not  tell  us?" 

"Let  the  subject  drop," put  in  Dick,  hastily,  eager 
for  his  game,  "Let  Con  alone  when  he's  drunk  if  you 
don't  want  a  fight.  She's  a  good  girl,  I'll  stake  my  life 
on  it,  and  this  ain't  no  place  for  her,  I'm  glad  she's  out 
of  it." 

"I  say,  Miss  Murphy,"  called  Preston,  hurrying  after 
her,  "I'm  sorry — I  didn't  know,  'pon  honor." 

"Have  you  got  any  honor? "she  said,  quietly.  "Miss 
Wilder  asked  me  once  why  I  carried  a  whip  like  that; 
she  has  had  an  illustration.  This  is  not  the  first  time 
I  have  had  to  resent  the  cowardice  of  men.  I  hope  it 
will  be  a  lesson  to  you." 

She  hurried  me  off  before  he  could  reply,  and  we 
three,  she,  the  dog  and  I,  went  down  the  mountain 
path  together,  and  from  that  time  till  a  husband 
claimed  her,  and  took  her  to  his  home  and  love,  my 
dear  girl  found  shelter,  and  I  may  say  happiness,  under 
my  poor  roof. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WE  MAKE  A  DISCOVERY  IN  THE  WOOD. 

I  soon  made  Babe  think  that  it  cost  less  to  keep  two 
than  one,  and  after  a  few  days  I  found  a  neat  cottage 
on  the  Silver  City  load,  that  I  hired,  all  furnished,  from 
a  man  and  his  wife,  who  were  going  East  for  a  year. 
With  much  regret  I  left  Mrs.  Finnerty,  wrho,  if  she  did 
boil  the  tea  and  talk  of  "  him,  "  was  a  worthy  woman. 
The  school  was  not  too  far  away  for  a  pleasant  walk, 
and  we  were  nicely  situated.  Babe  tried  hard  to  learn 
to  cook,  and  kept  the  house  neat,  and  we  were  thorough- 
ly happy.  Not  for  a  fortnight  did  I  see  Mr.  Murphy, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Beach  had  gone  to  Silver  City,  so  we 
had  no  troubles  at  all.  Some  time  during  the  first  of 
September  an  event  happened  that  had  a  curious  effect 
on  our  lives'  story.  One  Saturday  morning  we  started 
to  have  a  real  long,  pleasant  day  in  the  woods.  We 
packed  a  big  basket  of  good  things,  tying  it  on  the 
broncho's  back,  for  Hartman  had  brought  him  to  Babe, 
expressing  much  joy  that  she  was  living  with  me  and 
was  out  of  the  "  godless  place." 

We  went  on  the  road  towards  Silver  City  for  some 
miles,  and  then  turned  to  the  left,  up  a  trail  that  led 
to  an  abandoned  mine.  All  the  way  Babe  told  me  his- 
tories of  the  place — of  that  spot  where  a  snowslide  had 
carried  away  a  cabin;  of  a  horse  that  fell  over  that  prec- 
ipice, and  was  not  killed,  or  a  mule,  I  believe,  and  she 

GO 


DISCOVERY  IN  THE  WOOD.  67 

asked  me  that  question,  did  I  ever  see  a  dead  one,  and 
I  had  not,  and  none  alive  till  I  came  out  West  and 
passed  through  Missouri;  of  a  heap  of  gray  ore  that 
meant  a  mine  that  failed,  or  one  too  high  up  to  work  at 
a  profit.  Finally  we  reached  a  grove  of  aspens  by  a 
brook,  that  cascaded  over  rocks  foaming  and  frothing, 
and  here  we  sat  down  and  tied  the  animal  so  he  could 
eat  while  we  did,  and  laid  out  our  lunch.  From 
our  place  we  could  look  down  on  the  road  and  see 
the  passers  and  the  trains  of  pack-laden  mules  and 
burros  or  heavy  freight  wagons  from  the  city.  With 
a  guilty  look,  Babe  produced  a  bottle  of  beer  out  of 
the  basket  and  set  it  to  cool  in  the  stream.  It  was 
mighty  refreshing,  and  I  took  my  share  if  I  did  come 
from  Maine.  Then  lying  at  my  feet,  the  dog  on  her 
gown,  that  green  habit,  she  told  me  stories  of  the 
mountains,  that  gave  them  new  and  awful  meaning  in 
my  eyes;  of  lost  men  and  lost  mines;  of  a  cannibal 
who  wandered  in  hidden  paths  with  five  companions, 
and  hungry  and  feeble  they  laid  helpless,  and  he  mur- 
dered them  and  ate  of  their  flesh,  and  robbed  the  dead 
and  made  his  way  to  a  town  at  last,  where  he  spent 
their  money,  but  like  all  murderers  he  was  caught  by 
some  silly  device  of  his  own,  that  marks  most  crimi- 
nals, exhibiting  a  watch  that  was  identified,  and  all  the 
horrible  story  and  horrible  dead  were  brought  to  light; 
of  the  story  of  an  abused  child  in  a  sequestered  town, 
and  how  the  populace  rose  and  lynched  the  man  and 
woman  brutally  and  without  mercy;  of  old  time  wars 
with  Indians;  of  miners'  quarrels,  and  mines  bought 
with  blood;  of  great  snow  slides  moving  softly  from  the 


68  BABE  MURPHY. 

mountain  tops,  unheralded  by  sound,  and  carrying 
death  and  destruction  in  their  awful  swath. 

"Is  it  a  wonder  we  who  are  brought  up  in  the 
shadow  of  the  mountains  hold  human  life  so  idle  and 
worthless  a  thing?"  said  Babe.  "  Their  histories  are 
written  in  blood,  and  the  steps  to  our  wealth  and  com- 
fort are  along  the  brink  of  terrible  peril.  Every 
golden  secret  guarded  by  those  mighty  walls  must  be 
wrested  with  our  best  years,  and  guarded  then  with 
tireless  patience,  defended  with  our  lives.  Murder  and 
greed  and  oppression  are  the  stories  of  our  mines." 

She  laid  back  against  my  knee,  loosening  her  heavy 
hair  that  won't  stay  done  up,  and  I  smoothed  it  softly 
till  she  fell  asleep.  I  waved  a  pine  branch  to  and  fro  to 
keep  the  flies  away,  and  looking  down  on  her  fair,  sweet 
face,  I  realized  how  dear  she  was  to  me,  and  that  had 
she  been  my  own  child  I  could  not  have  loved  her  more. 
I  had  a  book  in  my  lap,  but  did  not  read  much, 
glancing  often  at  the  road  or  far  across  the  canon  below 
that,  or  the  afternoon  shadows  on  the  mountains.  I 
saw  the  stage  whirl  along,  some  wagons,  a  horseman 
now  and  then.  After  awhile,  I  noted  the  cream-col- 
ored bronchos,  and  saw  Beach  driving,  and  his  wife  in 
her  costly  gown,  shading  her  impassive  face  with  her 
sunshade,  and  I  fell  to  thinking  of  them,  and  what  love 
was  and  meant.  I  know  full  well  there  is  such  a 
thing,  but  oh,  how  it  dies  as  time  goes  on  in  married 
life,  and  troubles  come.  Those  two  had  none  of  it  to 
begin  with,  I  will  not  say  he  had  natural  love.  Love 
must  lie  in  equality,  belief  in  one  another.  It  is  the 
one  bit  of  heaven,  on  earth,  and  so  rare  and  priceless  I 


DISCOVERY  IN  TIIE  WOOD.  69 

wonder  wives  and  husbands  do  not  strive  to  keep  it  in 
their  homes,  and  whose  fault  is  it,  when  domestic  bick- 
ering drives  it  away  never  to  return  until  a  death-bed 
calls,  and  it  appears  for  a  brief  glimpse  beside  the  pale 
spectre  that  must  come  for  us  all. 

When  Babe  awoke,  the  sun  was  setting,  and  soon  the 
purple  curtain  of  night  would  fall,  after  the  glory  and 
light.  We  started  homewards,  but  as  the  air  was  so 
beautiful,  Babe  insisted  on  going  a  little  further  along 
the  road.  What  a  tireless  creature  she  was,  and  as  I 
was  riding  the  broncho,  I  had  to  submit.  She  leads 
him,  for  I  am  timid,  and  strangely  enough,  she  led  me 
along  to  her  fate. 

The  first  thing  that  attracted  our  attention,  as  we 
went  on  turning  a  corner  in  the  road,  was  the  dog 
snuffing  at  something  in  the  dust.  Babe  let  go  the 
bridle,  and  stooped  down  where  the  dog  was.  She 
looked  white  and  scared  when  she  came  back  to  me. 

"There's  a  dark  spot  in  the  dust  that  looks  like 
blood,"  she  said,  and  I  felt  a  chill  creep  over  me — that 
speech  right  in  the  shadow  of  those  grim,  dark  mount- 
ains. 

"Lawful  sakes,  let's  get  back,"  I  cried,  "not  a  step 
further  will  I  go." 

"Some  one  may  need  our  help," she  said,  solemnly. 
"Come."  Of  course  I  followed,  like  a  scared  hen 
squawking  at  every  sound. 

"  Here  is  a  broken  whip,"  she  called,  picking  up 
something  at  her  feet.  It  looked  sort  of  pathetic,  that 
broken  whalebone  with  the  gold  handle,  it  was  a  costly 
thing,  too,  not  like  our  mountain  folks  use.     "Faugh, 


70  TIABE  MURPIir. 

it's  wet/'  I  said,  and  what  a  sick  feeling  I  had,  for  my 
hand  was  all  blood.     I  nearly  fainted. 

"Some  one  has  been  dragged  along  the  dust,"  said 
Babe,  stooping  down.  "My  God,  can  it  be  murder! 
There  is  blood  all  the  way.  Follow  me."  She  caught 
up  her  habit  and  ran  like  a  deer,  the  dog  galloping 
after  her. 

"  Don't  leave  me,"  I  screeched,  and  followed,  scold- 
ing all  the  way,  terrified  at  the  horse,  and  not  daring 
to  get  him  out  of  a  walk.  When  I  caught  up  with  her, 
she  wras  standing  looking  into  the  bushes  at  the  side  of 
the  road,  where,  a  long  ways  below,  the  river  roared, 
and  below  the  trees  was  a  straight  rocky  wall,  a  hun- 
dred feet  high. 

"The  marks  end  here,"  she  said,  "but  the  horse 
went  back  toward  the  city,  see  the  hoof  tracks,  unshod 
too.  Go  find  him,  Doc,"  she  went  on,  pushing  the  dog 
into  the  brush.  I  got  off  the  horse,  trembling  in  every 
limb,  and  peered  cautiously  into  the  trees.  Suddenly 
the  gruesome  quiet  was  broken  by  a  howl  from  the  dog. 
Oh,  what  a  sound  it  was,  echoing  up  the  canon  and 
along  the  towering  mountain  heights.  No  other  sound 
so  weird  to  me,  for  I  hold  a  dog  can  see  spirits,  and  I 
never  hear  them  howl  that  long,  mournful  way,  but  I 
think  of  the  night  my  father  died,  when  the  old  hound 
he  loved  gave,  at  midnight,  a  bitter,  wailing  cry,  and 
then  we,  who  thought  the  sick  man  sleeping  peacefully, 
found  him  with  meaningless  wide  eyes — dead.  That 
fearless  girl  plunged  into  the  bushes  following  the  cry, 
and  I  hitched  the  animal  and  waited  at  (he  brink  of  the 
precipice.     "Come,"   she  called,  and  I   went   to  her. 


DISCO  VER  Y  IN  THE  WOOD.  71 

There,  in  a  clump  of  firs,  along  a  heap  of  drift  scattered 
from  a  snow  slide  years  before,  lay  a  man,  face  down- 
ward, as  if  flung  in  headlong  flight,  over  the  rocks. 
Under  the  hidden  face  oozed  a  dark  sluggish  stream 
that  filled  me  with  sickening  horror. 

"  Don't  faint,"  said  Babe's  voice,  quick  and  stern, 
"  Ann,  do  you  hear,  we  need  our  senses.  See  how  he 
lies,  head  down  and  bleeding  so."  She  went  on  her 
knees  and  lifted  the  big  fellow  into  her  lap,  holding  his 
head  on  her  arm.  "He  would  have  bled  to  death  soon 
that  way,  oh  it  is  terrible."  When  I  looked  at  him, 
helping  her  to  get  him  easier  fixed,  I  saw  his  clothing, 
corduroy,  was  rich  and  fine,  but  he'd  long  boots,  and  a 
wide  sombrero  hat,  stained  with  blood,  lay  beside  him. 

"  A  cowboy,  "  I  says. 

' '  No,  no,  see  how  fine  his  clothing  is,  the  gold  whip 
belonged  to  him  and  his  flannel  shirt  is  city  made,  he  is 
probably  an  amateur  one  and  can't  ride,  for  his  horse 
must  have  thrown  and  dragged  him." 

She  wassoppingthe  blood  in  that  great,  gaping  wound 
on  his  forehead.  What  a  sight  his  head  was,  all  grimed 
with  blood  and  dirt.  "  Give  me  your  handkerchief, 
Ann,  mine  is  all  wet  already,  and  run,  get  some  water 
from  the  spring  along  the  road.  Bring  it  in  the  pickle 
bottle  and  our  cups  full  and  your  bay  rum,  he  can  smell 
of  that,  he  isn't  dead,  for  his  heart  beats." 

I  felt  the  faint  flickering  of  the  heart,  and,  close  as  I 
was,  I  could  not  make  out  whether  he  was  old  or  young, 
hardly  whether  black  or  white.  I  hurried  back  with 
the  water,  and  we  tore  our  table  cloth  up  and  washed  his 
poor  face  and  matted  hair.     He  was  bronzed,  almost  as 


72  BABE  MURPHY. 

dark  as  an  Indian,  had  a  large  nose  and  a  sort  of  square 
chin,  a  sickly-looking  mustache,  lighter  than  his  skin, 
and  fair,  curly  hair.  His  eyelashes  were  long  and  curly 
too,  and  lay  on  his  cheek  that  took  on  a  queer  putty  color 
under  the  brown  from  loss  of  blood.  A  fine,  gold 
watch,  sadly  broken,  hung  from  his  belt,  and  I  put  it 
carefully  back  in  his  pocket. 

"How  that  wound  bleeds,"  she  says;  "what  can  we 
do  ?" 

Now  I  own  I  know  very  little  of  surgery  but  remem- 
bered in  some  blind  way  that  my  mother  put  salt  on  a 
wound  of  hers  made  with  broken  glass  once  and  that 
stopped  the  flow  of  blood. 

"Cobwebs  are  good,"  I  hesitated,  "but  no  sensible 
spider  would  build  here,  I  wonder  if  salt  would  do  any 
harm?"  I  had  the  basket  with  me  and  I  took  a  pinch 
out  in  my  hand  laying  it  lightly  on  the  edge  of  the 
wound. 

"What  in  h — 1  are  you  doing  to  me  ?"  calls  our  dead 
man,  opening  a  pair  of  bright,  brown  eyes  and  making 
me  jump  more  than  a  foot  clear  off  the  ground.  Then 
he  falls  back  in  a  dead  faint. 

"Oh,  you  hurt  him!"  cried  Babe. 

"You  are  dreadful  fearful  about  a  strange  cowboy," 
I  said,  scornfully,  scared,  I'll  own,  of  my  doing,  "it  was 
the  smart  brought  him  to  life." 

If  he  had  been  old  and  ugly  Babe  would  have  taken 
just  as  good  care  of  him,  but  would  she  have  held  him  as 
gently  on  her  young  arm  and  looked  at  him  with  such 
tender  pity?  Il'm,  I  do  not  know,  ami  after  events 
proved  she  was  rather  pleased  ho  was  not  old  and  ugly. 


DISCOVERY  IN  TUE  WOOD.  73 

She  kept  wetting  his  face,  and  the  blood  stopped  flow- 
ing so  fast,  and  then  I  held  bay  rum  to  his  nose  (I  always 
carry  it  on  our  picnics  for  headache,  for  I  am  subject  to 
them,  I  mean  headaches,  though  the  picnics  are  common 
enough),  and  after  considerable  of  a  spell  he  opens  his 
eyes,  shivers  a  little  and  looks  straight  into  Babe's  sweet 
face.  I  am  glad  to  say,  even  in  that  dim  light,  she  had 
the  manners  to  blush. 

"Guess  I  had  a  fall,"  he  says,  coolly,  not  seeming  to 
hurry  any,  for  she  could  not  get  her  arm  from  under 
his  head,  and  if  she  had  let  him  go  he  would  have  rolled 

on  the  rocks,    "that bucking  broncho  threw  me, 

caught  my  foot  in  the  stirrup — cursed  bad  saddle." 

"You  should  not  have  tried  to  ride,"  she  said,  gravely; 
"these  mountain  roads  are  very  dangerous." 

"  If  you  think  I  can't  ride  you  are  off,  Miss,  been  a 
cowboy  two  years  in  Wyoming.  Thank  you  for  finding 
me,  rode  horses  before  you  were  born.  Lord,  how  my 
head  hurts,  that  Colorado  whisky — never  could  drink 
the  stuff,  anyway.    Phew!  what's  on  my  face,  blood?" 

"  Your  head  is  hurt." 

"  I  know  it  (feeling  the  wound  with  a  big  brown 
hand),  a  nasty  one.  Here  take  that  rag,  and  you  and 
the  old  lady  tie  it  hard  around  my  head." 

Babe  and  I  made  a  bandage  of  the  table  cloth,  and 
followed  his  directions.  "  Hard,  I  tell  you,  can't  you?  " 
he  ordered,  and  we  tried  our  best,  but  suddenly  the 
cloth  broke,  being  an  old  ragged  one  we  only  took  for 
picnics,  and  I  fell  backwards. 

"H — ,"  says  that  awful  young  man,  "and  I'll  bleed 
to  death!" 


74  BABE  MURPHY. 

"  Wait,"  said  Babe.  She  stooped  her  head,  tore  a 
place  in  her  habit  with  her  pretty  teeth,  and  from  that 
slit  pulled  a  long  breadth.  "This  will  do."  It  did,  and 
we  fixed  a  tight  bandage  on  the  stranger's  forehead. 

"Awfully  sorry,  you  had  to  tear  your  gown/'  he  says, 
looking  straight  in  her  face  with  his  handsome  eyes. 
"Am  I  terribly  heavy?" 

"You  must  try  to  get  up,"  she  replied,  blushing  furi- 
ously. "This  is  a  bad  place,  and  you  might  fall.  Ann, 
give  him  your  hand,  to  steady  him." 

I  pulled,  and  he  honestly  tried;  but  he  was  dreadfully 
weak. 

"Got  any  brandy?"  he  panted. 

"No." 

"Might  know  women  wouldn't  have  it.  Whew,  I 
can't  see  when  I  raise  my  head,  black  things  across  my 
eyes.  Everything  is  whirling  around.  Give  me  that 
bay  rum;  it's  got  rum  in  it." 

" Sakes  alive!  no,"  I  says.  "Here,  drink  the  water, 
it  only  tastes  a  little  pickley,  the  bottle's  clean." 

"  It's  a  bottle  anyway,"  he  grins,  showing  strong 
white  teeth,  and  then  lurches  up  into  a  sitting  position. 
I  pulled  him,  and  Babe  lifted  his  shoulders,  and  we  got 
him  on  his  feet.  A  big,  broad-shouldered  young  fellow, 
seeming,  in  his  helpless  state,  terrible  tall  and  un- 
wieldy. 

"  You  are  an  awfully  tall  girl,"  he  said,  dazedly,  to 
Babe.  "Wonder  if  I  ain't  dreaming  you,  saw  all  sorts 
of  devils  when  I  was  laying  down  there,  kept  coming  to 
and  getting  looney  again,  bet  a  dollar  that  brute  kicked 
me  in  the  head.  Give  me  your  shoulder  now,  and  don't 
yell  if  I  grip  hard;   steady  and  slow  now." 


DISCOVERT  IN  THE  WOOD.  75 

Leaning  on  Babe,  me  dragging  liim,  we  got  him  into 
the  road,  and  to  the  horse.  Land!  what  a  time  we  had 
getting  him  on  the  animal!  How  he  ordered  us  about 
like  a  prince,  swore  and  struggled  manfully  with  his 
weakness!  Then  Babe  led  the  broncho,  and  I  followed 
behind  with  the  dog.  Not  a  soul  did  we  meet  to  help 
us,  and  at  last,  as  we  neared  our  cottage,  the  stranger 
said,  hoarsely: 

"Can't  hang  on  much  longer;  get  me  in  somewhere; 
got  to  flop!" 

I  ran  ahead,  opened  our  door,  and  lit  the  lamp, 
and  then  Babe  and  I  got  him  in,  and  on  her  bed. 
Luckily  we  had  brandy;  I  got  him  some,  he  came  to 
himself  a  moment. 

"Plucky  girl,"  he  muttered,  "can't  move,  awful 
queer!     Get  a  doctor!" 

"  Look  after  him! "  called  Babe,  and,  tired  as  she  was, 
ran  out.  The  broncho  had  taken  advantage  of  our 
trouble,  and  departed.  So  she  had  to  go  on  foot  all  the 
way  to  town.  She  seemed  gone  a  long  time,  especially 
so  as  the  young  man  had  grown  very  white  and  still, 
and  I  feared  he  was  dying,  his  breathing  was  so  faint. 
At  last  there  came  the  rattle  of  carriage  wheels,  and  I 
heard  a  slow  and  pompous  voice  I  thought  I  knew, 
saying: 

"Eeally,  doctor,  that  was  most  thoughtful  of  Miss 
Murphy,  a  singular  occurrence,  Clara  will  be  so  grateful, 
her  affections  are  so  strong." 

Then  into  my  house,  followed  by  Doctor  Hooper,  the 
pleasant  old  j)hysician,  who  had  tended  Babe  in  her  ill- 
ness, stalked  Mr.  Beach. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A   VISIT   FROM   MRS.    BEACH    AND   TOM. 

Doctor  Hooper  hurried  in  and  went  to  the  bed.  He 
removed  our  bandage,  sponged  the  wound  which  I  helped 
him  sew  up.  "  It  is  lucky  he  is  a  man/'  he  said,  "it 
will  make  a  scar,  must  have  lost  a  good  deal  of  blood  too, 
seems  a  healthy  young  fellow,  so  he  will  come  out  all 
right;  can  move  him  in  the  morning." 

"He  is  Mrs.  Beach's  cousin,"  Mr.  Beach  explained 
when  the  doctor  was  mixing  some  medicine,  "an  odd 
happening.  We  have  been  expecting  a  visit  from  him 
for  some  time.  He  has  never  been  here  before.  When 
Miss  Murphy  ran  into  the  Doctor's  office  and  told  of 
the  accident  I  was  there  and  thought  at  once  the 
stranger,  from  her  description,  might  be  Mr.  Thomas — 
Thomas  Ballinger.  His  mother  is  a  sister  of  Clara's 
mother  and  a  very  fine  lady  too,  but  Thomas  has  been 
what  I  may  say  rather  wild.  On  that  account  has  been 
temporarily  banished  to  a  ranch  in  Wyoming  the  past 
two  years.  He  will  be  very  wealthy  some  day,  and  there- 
fore his  mother  wished  him  to  change  his  habits  before 
assuming  a  responsible  position.  He  was  some  trouble 
to  her  while  he  was  at  College,  Yale,  I  think,  and  after- 
wards in  Boston.  The  property  in  the  family  is  the 
result  of  a  second  marriage.  Mr.  Thomas'  father  was  a 
dissipated  person,  careless  in  money  matters  and  left 
his  family  in  poor  circumstances,  but  a  few  years  after 
his  death  Mrs.  Ballinger   married  Aniory  Howard,   of 

76 


VISIT  FROM  MRS.  BEACH  AND  TOM.  77 

Boston,  one  of  the  Beacon  Street  aristocracy,  and  he 
willed  her  at  his  death  an  immense  fortune,  without 
reservations  or  commands,  entirely  hers  to  bequeath  as 
she  saw  fit."  I  wondered  why  he  was  telling  me  all 
this,  but  had  a  glimmering  idea  when  he  said,  "  So  if 
Thomas  displeases  her  she  can  leave  him  nothing  and 
force  him  to  a  life  of  hard  work  and  poverty  of  which 
he  knows  nothing.  You  must  allow  me,  Miss  Wilder 
to  remunerate  you  and  Miss  Murphy  for  the  trouble  you 
have  taken  for  Clara's  cousin." 

"Wouldn't  take  a  cent,"  I  snapped,  "do  as  much 
for  an  Indian." 

That  offended  him  greatly,  and  away  he  stalked,  leav- 
ing Jones  to  assist  the  Doctor,  and  a  nice  time  they  had 
with  the  young  man  who  was  out  of  his  head,  raving 
all  night,  driving  cattle  and  riding  bronchos,  swear- 
ing at  men  and  ordering  imaginary  people  about.  Babe, 
who  would  not  ride  home  in  Beach's  carriage  went  to 
bed  after  her  walk  and  was  sound  asleep  when  they  took 
the  young  man  away.  We  talked  of  him  and  the  acci- 
dent the  next  day  when  we  were  setting  the  house  to 
rights  and  looked  over  Babe's  habit  that  was  utterly 
ruined  with  the  tear  and  the  blood-stains. 

"  You  shall  have  another,  dear,  that  was  badly  worn 
anyway." 

"  You  must  not  waste  your  money  on  me,"  she  said, 
soberly.  "  I  wore  that  so  long  it  got  to  be  an  old 
friend." 

"H'm,"  I  says,  and  wrote  to  Denver  for  material,  and 
in  two  weeks  she  had  another  one,  a  rich  myrtle  green 
made  plain,  but  fitting  like  a  glove.     I  can  dress-make 


78  BABE  MURPHY. 

when  I  set  my  mind  to  it,  and  I  am  satisfied  when  she  is 
j)leased,  she  is  the  most  grateful  creature.  How  pretty 
she  did  look  in  it,  and  had  just  put  it  on  and  was  prom- 
enading up  and  down  the  porch  to  show  me  the  style 
and  becomingness  of  my  work  when  I  saw  the  cream- 
colored  bronchos  coming,  with  Jones  driving,  and  in  the 
back  seat  was  Mrs.  Beach  and  her  cousin.  Mr.  Bal- 
linger  looked  very  pale  and  thin,  but  neat  and  well 
dressed,  in  his  store  clothes,  as  Babe  says. 

" Don't  run  away,  Babe,"  Mrs.  Beach  called,  "my 
husband  is  not  with  me  and  Tom  has  come,  on  his  first 
day  out,  to  thank  you  for  saving  his  life." 

"  I  am  sure  it  was  nothing,"  said  Babe,  stiffly,  but  she 
could  not  escape,  as  they  were  already  at  the  steps  and 
Ballinger  had  alighted  and  was  holding  out  his  hand. 

"I  value  my  life  more  than  you  do  then,"  he  laughs, 
"  can't  take  off  my  hat  or  the  bandages  will  come  off. 
The  hat  covers  the  rags.  Otherwise  I  am  recovered, 
but  for  you  the  vultures  would  be  picking  my  bones 
down  that  canon  now." 

"Some  one  else  would  have  found  you,"  she  an- 
swered, coldly. 

"  You  don't  ask  me  in,  impolite  Miss  Wilder,"  said 
Mrs.  Beach,  tripping  up  the  steps,  "but  I  am  going  to 
come,  if  Babe  don't  like  me,  she  can  at  least  let  me 
thank  her  for  saving  my  favorite  cousin's  life." 

"I  never  could  see  why  women  quarrel  so,"  said  Bal- 
linger; "men  don't,  nor  they  with  men." 

"You  are  the  rudest  boy,"  laughed  Mrs.  Beach; 
"ranch  manners,  I  suppose." 

I  brought  out  chairs,  as  there  was  nothing  else  to  do, 
and  they  sat  down,  Babe  with  an  undecided  air. 


VISIT  FROM  MRS.  BEACH  AND  TOM.  79 

"You  were  awfully  brave/'' said  Mr.  Ballinger  ad- 
miringly, "and  how  strong  for  a  girl,  you  just  about 
carried  me  up  to  that  horse.  You  looked  awfully  tall 
too,  in  that  uncertain  light.  Say,  that  isn't  the  gown 
you  had  on  then,  the  other  had  gilt  braid  on  it,  this  is 
ever  so  much  nicer  looking." 

".How  could  you  tell  what  she  had  on,  Tom,  when 
you  were  out  of  your  head?"  Mrs.  Beach  asked,  inno- 
cently. 

He  blushed,  actually  he  did,  for  he  was  a  decent 
young  fellow  as  I  ever  knew,  and  Babe  flushed  a  royal 
red,  while  Mrs.  Beach  looked  at  them  with  that  wicked 
little  smile  of  hers. 

"  I  infer  you  were  near  that  habit,  Tom." 

"The  braid  er — scratched  my  face,"  he  stammered, 
and  Babe  tried  to  look  as  if  she  did  not  hear  him,  but 
failed  lamentably,  "I  did  not  mean  that,"  he  went  on, 
uncomfortably,  "I  always  make  a  mess  of  a  thing.  I 
am  sure  I  was  out  of  my  head  most  of  the  time,  but  I 
do  know  Miss  Murphy  saved  my  life,  and  was  awfully 
•  good  to  me  and  I  shall  always  be  grateful.  By  Jove 
now,  that  gown  was  spoiled,  and  you  tore  out  a  big 
piece  to  tie  up  my  head." 

"You  certainly  dreamed  that,"  said  Babe,  coolly. 

"Don't  worry,  Babe,"  said  Mrs.  Beach  with  a  slight 
sneer,  "  Unlike  Mr.  Beach,  he  will  not  offer  you  pay. 
Tom  is  not  quite  all  cowboy." 

"Thanks,  Clara,"  he  said,  merrily,  "but  this  habit  is 
ever  so  much  nicer,  the  new  one.  Don't  you  think  so 
Miss  Wilder?" 

"She  ought  to;  she  made  it,"laughedBabe,  and  then 


80  BABE  MURPHY. 

the  conversation  became  general.  I  never  saw  Mrs. 
Beach  kinder  and  more  agreeable.  I  liked  Ballinger, 
too,  he  was  bright,  frank  almost  to  rudeness,  had  been 
a  spoiled  child,  I  inferred,  but  was  redeemed  from  being 
a  cub  by  his  manliness  and  love  of  fun.  He  was  very 
fond  of  Clara,  respected  Mr.  Beach,  winced  at  her  lit- 
tle sneers  about  him,  and  spoke  well  of  everybody.  He 
seemed  to  have  taken  a  great  liking  to  Babe,  for  he  rode 
over  almost  every  day  after  that,  bringing  her  flowers 
and  books  and  getting  her  to  ride  with  him,  on  the 
pretense  he  did  not  know  the  roads  about  Erin.  Mrs. 
Beach  did  not  come  again  for  some  time,  and  the  calls 
were  more  delightful  without  her  and  the  constraint  her 
presence  always  put  on  Babe.  How  changed  my  dear 
girl  became,  so  merry  and  happy,  so  rosy  and  bright- 
eyed,  and  so  particular  about  her  clothes  and  ribbons. 
I  had  my  own  ideas,  maybe  I  was  wrong,  but  her  joy 
was  mine,  and  I  would  not  be  the  croaker  to  cast  the 
first  shadow  over  her  sunshine.  The  little  boyishness 
of  her  manner  pleased  Ballinger,  and  they  had  a  great 
deal  of  fun  teaching  the  dog  tricks,  and  teasing  me  and 
racing  their  horses  up  and  down  the  road,  Babe  always 
winning,  for  that  hateful  broncho  of  hers  seemed  pos- 
sessed of  the  speed  of  the  evil  one  when  he  wanted  to 
go,  and  just  skimmed  along,  his  teeth  showing,  his 
ears  pinned  back,  as  ugly  an  animal  as  one  would  wish 
not  to  see,  but  dear  me,  when  I  get  on  his  back  he  acts 
as  if  he  could  hardly  drag  one  foot  after  another,  and  I 
think  he  is  tired,  and  make  Babe  help  me  off. 

"  I  never  saw  a  girl  like  you,"  Ballinger  said  one  day, 
when  he  stopped  to  tea,  and  ate  of  a  fine  cake  Babe  had 


VISIT  FROM  MRS.  BEACH  AND  TOM.  81 

made  (the  better  because  she  thought  he  would  eat  it 
no  doubt)  "  you  are  full  of  surprises.  I  would  not  have 
missed  that  fall  of  mine  for  the  world,  though  I  did 
feel  like  going  way  to  Silver  City  to  thrash  the  man 
that  let  me  the  ugliest  brute  I  ever  rode  on.  He  actu- 
ally sent  me  a  bill  the  other  day,  I'll  make  him  eat  it, 
by  Jove.  Say  I  guess  I  swore  at  you,  Miss  Wilder,  didn't 
I?  But  what  in  thunder  made  you  put  salt  on  me,  to 
keep  me  from  flying  away  like  I  used  to  try  to  catch 
birds  taught  by  a  sinful  old  grandmother  they  could  be 
snared  that  way?" 

"You  are  not  very  grateful/'  I  laughed,  "and  you 
never  quit  your  bad  language  all  the  way  home,  but 
Babe  got  the  worst  of  it,  for  she  led  the  horse." 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  Babe  and  I  were  both 
at  home,  sort  of  expecting  some  one,  so  when  we  heard 
a  horse  coming  we  thought  it  was  our  young  man,  but  in 
this  we  were  disappointed.  The  horse  was  a  big  bay  with 
a  white  strip  down  his  nose  and  three  white  feet,  and 
his  rider  was  Con  Murphy,  looking  pale  and  dejected, 
his  eyes  bloodshot  and  his  clothing  neglected.  Even 
the  horse  ambled  slowly  along  as  is  if  he  too  had  been 
dissipating  and  was  worn  out.  He  rode  up  to  the 
porch,  threw  his  rein  over  a  stump,  patted  the  grey- 
hound, who  went  to  meet  him,  and  came  up  the 
steps. 

"Is  Babe  in,  Miss  Wilder?"  he  said,  meekly.  She 
ran  into  the  house  when  she  saw  him  coming. 

I  took  off  my  glasses,  I  had  been  reading,  wiped 
them  slowly,  and  looked  at  him  severely.  "She  is,  but 
does  not  want  to  see  you,  Mr.  Murphy." 


82  BABE  MTJRPHY. 

"  I  will  not  trouble  her,"  he  went  on,  mournfully,  and 
sat  down  with  a  sigh,  looking  so  lonesome  and  sad 
my  heart  softened  to  him.  I  would  like  to  know  why 
good  looks  affect  us  so,  if  he  had  been  a  homely  man  I 
should  have  told  him  to  go  long  about  his  business. 
The  same  way  with  Ballinger,  who  is  big  and  manly, 
though  not  so  fine  looking,  and  I  know  should  not  come 
to  our  house,  but  I  have  not  the  strength  of  mind  to 
tell  him  so. 

"Fil  go  see  Babe,"  I  says,  and  actually  went  in  and 
coaxed  her  out. 

"Did  you  want  to  see  me,  father?"  she  said,  quietly 
going  up  to  him. 

"Sit  down,"  he  muttered,  pushing  a  chair  beside 
his;  " I  haven't  been  square  with  yon,  Babe,  I  know  it, 
wasn't  fit  to  have  you  with  me,  want  you  to  stay  here 
with  that  good  soul.  I'll  help  you  out  when  I  can. 
The  mine  sale  fell  througb,  they  were  on,  at  the  start, 
but  Dick  and  I  cleaned  them  out  at  poker  the  other 
night  and  they  are  gone.  No  good,  any  of  them,  the 
one  you  struck  apologized,  only  one  of  them  worth  any 
thing,  he  not  much.  I  was  going  to  shoot  him,  but 
Dick  said  it  was  my  fault.  I  did  not  tell  who  you 
were,  and  I  was  too  drunk  to  know  anything  about  it. 
You  can  live  here,  never  up  there  again.  See  I'm  flush, 
there's  a  hundred  dollars  (dividing  a  roll  of  bills)  be 
a  good  girl,  dear,  and  forgive  me." 

She  took  the  money  with  trembling  hands,  her  beau- 
tiful eyes  wet  with  tears.  "Father,  I'm  sorry  if  I  was 
mean.  I  want  to  be  friends  with  you,  and  if  it's  my 
duty  to  go  back " 

"It's  not,"  he  said,  promptly,  "and  don't  cry,  it  isn't 


VISIT  FROM  MRS.  BEACH  AND  TOM.  83 

your  style  nor  becoming  to  yon,  and  by you're  a 

mighty  handsome  girl.  Of  course  I  don't  want  yon, 
told  you  so,  and  pay  the  old  lady  with  the  money.  I 
am  a  poor  devil,  anyhow,  don't  care  what  becomes  of 
me,  like  to  think  you  are  straight.  I  suppose  you  think 
that  this  penitence  is  a  sobering-up  fit  after  a  spree,  it 
partly  is,  but  Fve  got  a  terrible  fit  of  the  blues." 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  to  help  you,  father?" 

"No,  nor  any  other  woman,"  he  muttered,  with  an 
oath;  "  I  hate  the  whole  race  of  you." 

She  went  to  him  and  kissed  his  forehead,  lightly  lay- 
ing her  cheek  close  to  his.  "Don't,  Babe,"  he  said, 
fretfully,  but  as  she  drew  back,  hurt  and  grieved,  he 
reached  out  and  drew  her  to  him,  "you  poor  child, 
don't  be  angry,  I'm  not  fit  to  kiss  you.  I  am  lying,  and 
you  know  it.  You  guess  well  enough.  I  am  not  given 
to  remorse,  and  you  know  you  were  always  a  small  fac- 
tor in  my  life.  It's  another  woman.  Sit  down,"  he 
finished,  angrily,  as  Babe,  with  white  face  and  blazing 
eyes,  sought  to  escape  from  him,  "  you  shall  stay  here, 
curse  you,  when  she  comes." 

I  followed  the  direction  of  Babe's  eyes,  and  saw  Mrs. 
Beach  and  her  cousin  coming  in  the  carriage,  Jones 
driving,  as  usual. 

"Father,"  cried  the  girl  with  white  lips,  "it  is  not 
right  to  have  that  woman  come  to  Miss  Wilder's  house, 
and  meet  you." 

"  She  don't  know  I'm  here,"  he  answered,  with  a 
bitter  laugh,  and,  as  the  carriage  drew  nearer,  went 
down  to  meet  it.      "I  have  not  seen  you  for  a  long 


84  BABE  MURPEY. 

time,  Mrs.  Beach,"  he  said,  holding  his  sombrero  in  his 
left  hand,  and  extending  his  right,  fixing  his  fierce  eyes 
on  her.  She  gave  him  a  quick,  scared  look,  and  put, 
reluctantly,  her  delicate  glove  in  his  big  hand.  He 
would  not  notice  Ballinger,  who  glared  at  him  from  the 
other  side,  but  went  on  swiftly,  "1  feared  you  might 
have  left  town,  had  thought  of  asking  Mr.  Beach  if  you 
were  at  home  and  calling  on  you." 

"I did  not  think  of  getting  out," she  said,  nervously, 
as  lie  kept  hold  of  her  hand  with  brutal  force. 

"  I  think  you  will  change  your  mind,"  he  muttered 
with  a  fierce  look. 

"1  hope  you  will  introduce  me  to  the  gentleman  who 
seems  so  desirous  of  forcing  you  to  alight,"  burst  out 
Ballinger,  turning  an  angry  red  under  his  bronze. 

"  Certainly,"  stammer<<l  Mi  h,  not  her  cool  self 

at  all,  "this  is  my  cousin  Tom,  Mr.  Murphy,  Babe's 
father,  Tom."  Very  miserable  and  pale,  she  got  stiffly 
out  of  the  carriage,  and  Con,  with  exaggerated  polite- 
ness, still  retained  her  hand  until  he  got  her  a  chair  on 
the  porch.  Then  he  sat  down  at  her  feet,  looking  into 
her  face  with  his  eager,  angry  eyes. 

I  half  pitied  Mrs.  Beach  then,  for  the  avalanche 
seemed  very  real  and  near.  She  had  more  on  her  hands 
khan  she  dreamed  of,  and  whatever  she  had  meant  by 
her  idle  flirtation,  Con  Murphy  was  terribly  in  earnest. 


;il:::--  :.-. 


IMS*.     *'  'I  Zi£&  V' 


:.t:      i.i..:'  1J: 


:--■■.-,.. 

lit  . .'  -  •     l    -J.-:-. 


.  1     1  :  1  IT::1:..        I 

_l-7  :.^i  :,::::.;r.    :.iT  Li  :  1.. ,_: 


86  BABE  MURPHY. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  sober  enough  to  miss  me, n 
she  sneered. 

"Who  drove  me  to  drink  but  yourself.  Think  of 
the  five  years  you  have  tormented  me  with  your  capri- 
ces, bewitched,  fooled  me  until  that  flirtation  I  began 
with  you,  seeing  you  were  reckless  and  unhappy,  and 
meaning  to  hit  Beach,  to  strike  him  to  his  heart  through 
you,  has  turned  against  me.  I  can't  live  without  you, 
I  love  you.  I  am  so  bound  by  you  I'd  commit  murder 
if  you  told  me  to.  No  thought  of  revenge  now  to  Beach 
who  wronged  me,  but  only  of  my  love  for  you.  Let 
him  go,  I  am  sick  of  my  past  -  folly,  Clara,  I  wish  to 
God  you  were  not  his  wife,  that  we  were  free  of  that 
revenge  business — you  with  your  hatred  of  him,  me  with 
my  past  wrongs,  and  that  you  and  I  could  marry  like 
honest  folks." 

"These  conscience  spells  are  natural  to  you,  Con," 
she  said  with  a  little  yawn  behind  her  fan,  "  but  honest 
poverty  don't  suit  me  or  you  either.  It  was  your  own 
drunken  conduct  disgusted  me.  I  can  not  be  disgusted 
much  longer,  1  tell  you,  frankly,  without  letting  you 
go  once  and  forever." 

"Which  you  shall  never  do  and  live,  "  he  muttered. 

"  Don't  try  to  scare  me,  it  is  too  silly  from  you.  But 
I  tell  you,  Con,  I  live  in  terrible  dread  of  Beach,  I  do 
believe  if  he  knew,  he  would  kill  me,  and  I  am  afraid 
to  die.  The  world  is  so  pleasant  since  I  knew  you. 
Now  be  nice,  you  look  so  unshaven  and  neglected,  go 
fix  up  and  look  like  yourself,  you  handsome  thing.  I 
am   sur?T  have  a   right  to   ])Q  angry  at  the  way  you 


MRS.  BEACH  IS  A  CONUNDRUM.  87 

treated  Babe,  the  whole  town  is  talking  of  it,  and  if 
Beach  thought  I  ever  even  looked  at  you  he  would  take 
me  to  my  awful  mother.  I  am  not  ready  to  let  go  yet, 
what  time  may  bring  I  don't  know,  but  now  I  cling  to 
good  clothes  and  the  luxury  of  my  life.  Let  us  wait 
for  fate  and  be  as  careful  as  we  have  been." 

"  And  I  am  to  dangle  along  like  a  charrn  on  your 
watch  chain  in  the  haze  of  a  school-girl  mystery  with 
its  hidden  notes  and  meetings  by  moonlight.  I've  a 
mind  to  quit  you  and  go  away." 

"  You  can't,"  with  that  mocking  laugh,  "  now  I  am 
going  and  no  more  dragging,  please.  If  you  act  rough 
and  rude,  take  the  consequences — my  dislike.  I  have 
had  too  much  driving  in  my  life,  I  want  to  be  coaxed. 
Be  yourself,  Con,  my  jolly  friend  and  companion,  and 
some  day  we'll  fly  out  of  our  troubles,  when  the  mine 
pays  you  or  I  fall  heir  to  a  million  or  become  a  widow." 

She  let  her  little  hand  lay  in  his  a  moment,  looking 
into  his  happy  eyes.  How  easy  it  was  for  her  to  sway 
him  and  bend  him  to  her  will  now.  He  smiled  at  her, 
breathing  a  bit  faster,  then  took  his  sombrero,  hurried 
down  to  his  horse,  and  galloped  away  without  looking 
back.     She  sighed  and  glanced  at  me. 

"  It's  a  strange  world,  Wilder;  I  have  been  playing 
with  fire,  and  I  know,  sooner  or  later,  I  shall  be  con- 
sumed. I  hold  him  in  check  now,  but  for  how  long? 
I  live  in  dread;  the  slam  of  a  door  makes  me  sick  with 
fear.  Sometimes  I  say,  let  the  worst  come,  if  I  get 
away  unharmed  with  him.  I  don't  care  what  the  world 
says.     As  Con  talks,  strip  our  flesh  off  our  bones,  and 


88  BABE  MURPHY. 

who  knows  us  to  be  sinners  or  saints?  "Who  cares  aught 
of  our  brittle  bones?  Why  care  for  consequences  on 
earth  or  hereafter?  My  conscience  has  always  been  the 
fear  of  being  found  out,  and  it  troubles  me  now.  I 
look  at  my  husband,  his  cold  eyes,  his  self-possessed 
ways,  and  the  chill  he  brings  with  him  by  merely  living, 
and  I  think  some  day  how  awful  will  be  his  awakening! 
I  fancy  him,  pallid  and  dreadful,  condemning  me,  kill- 
ing me  with  those  great,  clammy  hands  of  his!  Heav- 
ens! I  scream  in  my  sleep  often,  feeling  my  hour  has 
come.  There  is  Con,  a  menace  always,  utterly  reckless 
and  mad  when  he  drinks,  and  blind  to  all  danger. 
Then  Tom,  wondering  what  it  means,  a  spy  on  me, 
Babe,  with  her  stern  disapproval,  and  you  almost  driven 
to  tell  my  secrets  because  you  want  to  help  Babe/' 

"  Mrs.  Beach,  not  from  my  lips,"  I  said,  firmly,  "will 
your  behavior  ever  be  known  to  the  man  who  trusts 
you.  But  I  pray  you,  before  it  is  too  late,  to  turn 
back." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  can%  and  you  know  it/' 
she  said,  miserably.  "Have  you  not  just  seen  and 
heard  Con?  Come,  Tom,"  she  called,  shaking  her  par- 
asol at  him,  "come,  or  dinner  will  be  late." 

He  obeyed  her,  helping  her  into  the  carriage.  "I 
have  been  scolding  Miss  Murphy  about  that  ridiculous 
name  of  hers,  Miss  Wilder,"  he  said  to  me.  "A  big, 
tall  girl,  like  her,  called  Babe!" 

"  One  can't  shake  off  those  names  so  easy,"  I 
answered.  "In  Southport  I  shall  always  be  called  Lyd 
Wilder.      We   always    had  some   queer    nickname   or 


MBS.  BE  A  CR 18  A  CON  UNDR  TTM.  89 

other  until  marriage  tacked  a  Mrs.  on  names,  giving 
respectability,  I  suppose." 

"We  will  have  to  get  Babe  married,  then,"  smiled 
Mrs.  Beach.  "  But  Tom  needn't  talk;  he  was  called 
Buster  till  he  was  big  enough  to  lick  his  tormentors. " 

"lam  sure  Beatrice  Murphy  has  a  queer  sound," 
said  Babe,  scornfully.  "  The  Murphy  tucked  on  to  the 
style  of  the  front  name." 

"  What's  in  a  name?  "  began  Mrs.  Beach. 

"Rats!"  said  Ballinger,  who  was  not  very  polite. 
"  I  am  going  to  call  her  Diana,  goddess  of  the  woods, 
the  chase.  With  her  slim  greyhound  by  her  side,  she 
roams  the  forest  and  finds  tramps  and  succors  them. 
Was  there  not  some  fellow  who  spied  Diana  and  her 
nymphs  and  got  caught  and  was  changed  into  a  tree  or 
beast?" 

"  Called  a  beast  no  doubt  by  the  delighted  ladies," 
said  Mrs.  Beach,  "  but  you  are  in  deep  water,  Tom, 
swim  to  shore  while  you  have  time,  and  don't  display 
how  little  you  learned  at  Yale  if  you  were  stroke  oar  in 
the  race." 

"  Farewell  Diana,  "  he  called,  as  he  drove  away,  and 
my  dear  girl  looking  so  bright  and  happy,  I  wisely  kept 
to  myself  that  interview  I  heard  between  her  father  and 
Mrs.  Beach. 

Looking  back,  I  can  realize  I  was  a  sinfully  weak  old 
woman,  but  then  I  let  fate  take  us  along  nor  ever  inter- 
posed to  prevent  one  wrong  step.  When  the  idea  of 
right  against  circumstance  and  our  own  pleasure  first 
comes  to  us,  it  is  a  giant,  strong  armed  and  mighty, 


90  BABE  MURPHY. 

taken  then  it  saves  us,  but  argued  with  and  thrust  back 
with  easy  prevarication  and  perversion  of  our  own  sense 
of  good,  it  gradually  dwindles  into  a  dwarf  so  small  it 
sinks  into  insignificance  beside  the  vice  that  is  so  allur- 
ing, and  right  is  forever  gone  from  us  before  we  know 
it.  This  sort  of  a  Pilgrim's  Progress  disgression  can  be 
easily  explained  in  the  events  that  followed. 

Just  at  that  time,  by  some  wickedness  of  fate,  Mr. 
Beach  was  called  to  New  York  by  important  business, 
and  his  wife,  not  being  ready  to  go,  and  having  her  cousin 
to  entertain,  was  left  in  Erin. 

He  passed  my  house  in  the  afternoon  stage,  and  just 
as  he  was  gone  Mrs.  Beach  drove  up.  "  Come  here/' 
she  called,  and  I  went  down  to  her.  "A  man  as  blind 
as  that,  Miss  Wilder,  ought  to  be  punished,"  she  said, 
earnestly,  and  I  noted  she  looked  worn  and  haggard. 
"  I  know  once  I  let  go  I  am  gone  forever,  and  so  at  the 
last  moment  I  went  to  him.  I  did  try  hard  with  my- 
self, for  I  love  Con,  and  you  know  I  am  not  a  common 
woman,  and  my  love  for  him  is  my  very  life.  You 
know  me  best,  Wilder." 

"  My  poor  dear,"  I  said,  patting  her  hand,  wondering 
some  why  she  cared  so  little  for  Jones  hearing,  "but 
what  did  you  do,  you  should  have  gone." 

"I  know  that,"  despairingly,  "and  I  went  to  that 
senseless  dolt.  'Henry/ 1  cried,  '  only  wait  till  morning, 
so  I  can  get  ready,  and  take  me  with  you.  I  don't  ask 
much  of  you,  but  this  time  let  me  go  along.  I  will  not 
bother  you,  I  will  be  ever  so  little  trouble/  'Why, 
Clara,  you  really  must  be  ill/  lie  said   in  that  way  of 


MRS.  BEACH  IS  A  CONUNDRUM.  91 

his,  and  I  felt  the  ice  forming  over  my  heart,  and  that 
sullen  anger  he  always  rouses  in  me.  '  Really,  I  could 
not  think  of  taking  you.  You  are  too  delicate,  then 
my  business  is  important,  I  can  not  wait,  and  you  have 
hardly  a  fit  wardrobe  now  to  take  to  New  York.  Our 
friends  must  not  think  us  savages  up  here.  You  must 
be  nervous  (me  who  never  had  an  ache  or  pain  in  my 
life) — you  certainly^  are  ill.  Go,  lie  down,  my  dear, 
and  rest/  (  Rest?  have  I  had  anything  else  but  rest?' 
'This  is  some  little  feminine  vagary/ he  finished  in 
that  pompous  way,  and  I  almost  cried,  and  a  wife's 
shame!  Oh,  I  loathe  him!  so  confident,  so  secure,  so 
sure  he  is  right,  if  all  the  world  be  wrong!  I  don't 
care  now;  the  end  has  come." 

She  pushed  my  restraining  hand  away,  for  I  saw  the 
tears  in  her  eyes,  and  she  did  not  want  me  to  see  them; 
then  drove  away,  and  never  again  did  I  see  Clara  Beach 
in  that  mood,  her  last  struggle  with  the  better  way. 

The  next  morning  she  drove  out,  Ballinger  following 
on  his  horse,  and  wanted  us  to  go  on  a  picnic  up  the 
mountain.  I  was  a  silly  old  fool,  but  Babe  wanted  to 
go,  and  so  I  went  too.  When  she  and  the  young  man  rode 
ahead,  I  felt  paid  for  my  struggles  with  my  better 
sense,  for  they  did  look  so  young  and  happy.  I  drove 
with  Mrs.  Beach,  who  was  chatty  and  pleasant,  flatter- 
ing me  with  that  quiet  skill  of  hers,  and  making  me 
think  I  was  of  so  much  consequence. 

But  it  looked  all  fair  that  sunny  October  day,  and  as 
we  went  swiftly  along  over  the  brittle  leaves  in  the  soft, 
chill  air  that  puts  new  life  in  the  veins  with  its  frosty 


92  BABE  MURPHY. 

kiss,  I  felt  the  good  things  in  this  life  to  make  us 
lenient  to  sin.  That  easy  carriage  and  the  fast  horses 
were  already  smothering  my  inward  objections. 

"  It  is  easy  for  folks  in  barren  places  and  dreary  lives 
to  be  good/'  I  says.  "Our  hard-working  fishermen  and 
farmers  and  their  wives  are  honest  and  virtuous.  The 
very  ruggedness  of  surroundings  makes  purity  of  mor- 
als, as  it  was  among  the  Spartans;  ,.;but,  dear  me!  I  ex- 
pect in  Eome  they  had  the  best  time,  if  they  did  fall  a 
prey  to  their  luxury  and  ungodly  ways  and  decay  as  a 
nation." 

"  You  are  a  queer  woman,  Wilder,"  she  said,  smiling, 
"always  engaged  in  terrific  moral  battles,  with  a  leaning 
to  naughtiness  in  people  you  don't  like.  I  know  you 
just  revel  in  naughty  novels,  and  then  beam  on  your 
own  virtues.  You  say  it  is  easy  to  be  bad  if  one  is  rich, 
how  about  poverty  and  degradation?" 

"The  slums,"  I  said  slowly,  "breed  vice  as  they  do 
disease.  It  springs  from  uncleanliness,  from  want  of 
water  and  a  place  to  wash  in,  from  slatternliness  that 
kills  self-respect.  From  no  place  to  dress  in,  that  helps 
to  preserve  personal  modesty,  from  hunger  and  cold. 
In  the  slums,  vice  is  a  commodity;  in  your  case,  my  fine 
lady,  it  is  a  disease  of  the  mind.  There  is  no  excuse  for 
you,  there  are  all  excuses  for  the  women  and  girls  in 
poverty." 

"How  about  love?  Because  we  rich  have  full  stom- 
achs and  warm  houses  and  clothes,  are  we  to  be  just 
human  animals?    Do  you  deny  us  hearts  and  souls?" 

"  Love  can  be  stilled  by  honest  effort,  and  a  few  bun- 


MBS.  BEACH  IS  A  CONUNDRUM.  93 

dred  miles  of  distance.  Seeing  the  trouble  that  love 
has  made,  I  am  more  inclined  to  think  it  is  a  viper  in- 
stead of  a  blessing. " 

fi  You  have  never  loved?  " 

et  Have  you,  ma'am,  outside  of  the  lowest  form  of  it? 
It's  a  handsome  man,  that's  all,  if  he  was  homely  you 
wouldn't  look  at  him." 

"  Nor  you  either  and  let  him  sit  on  the  porch  and 
abuse  me." 

"  You  are  mighty  smart,  Mrs.  Beach,"  I  said,  some 
disgruntled,  "  and  whether  you  are  good  or  bad  I  don't 
know,  even  if  I  try  to  think  that  little  walk  of  yours 
that  I  interrupted  so  long  ago  was  a  very  harmless 
thing  in  a  lawful,  married  woman." 

"  Give  me  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  Wilder,  even  if 
you  look  behind,"  she  said,  that  wicked  smile  on  her 
lips. 

I  looked,  and  there,  following  us  on  the  big  bay,  was 
K.t.  Con  Murphy,  looking  very  handsome  and  smiling, 
ijmehow  at  that  moment  I  felt  a  shadow  over  my  sun- 
shine. I  was  so  angiy  that  I  looked  at  her  in  speechless 
amazement. 


CHAPTER  X. 

xl   MOUNTAIN   PICNIC. 

"  Control  yourself,  Wilder,"  said  Mrs.  Beach,  coolly. 
"  Con  is  Babe's  father  and  Tom  is  my  cousin  and  there 
is  no  one  but  you  to  raise  up  a  Banquo  at  our  feast. " 

"  Babe  won't  stay,"  I  said,  firmly. 

"  Babe  is  in  love,"  she  laughed,  softly,  "  now  be  a  dear 
old  soul.  If  she  goes  home,  well  and  good,  I'll  take  my 
snub  like  a  little  man;  if  she  don't,  you  must  lend  us 
your  countenance  and  your  pleasantest  manner.  Is  it 
a  bargain?" 

"  Am  I  selling  my  soul  to  the  evil  one?" 

"  Thanks,  but  a  woman  in  love,  my  dear  Wilder,  is 
no  criterion  of  conduct.     She  is  very  human." 

Murphy  joined  us  then  in  the  gayest  mood  and 
entertained  us  until  we  left  the  traveled  road,  following 
an  old  trail  down  the  canon  that  led  to  the  sound  of 
rushing  water.  We  reached  a  grove  of  pines  and  a  wide, 
brown  brook  that  ended  in  a  glorious  waterfall  all  of 
fifty  feet  high.  I  got  out  of  the  carriage  and  went 
straight  to  Babe,  but  Ballinger  had  read  her  distress. 

i(  Diana,  don't  be  silly,"  he  said,  in  that  commanding 
way  of  his,  "if  I  don't  kick  why  should  you.  Why 
imagine  evil  when  there  is  none.  My  cousin  is  unhappy 
and  I  am  on  her  side  and  don't  you  make  a  scene."  I 
saw  her  lip  quiver  and  her  eyes  fill  with  tears,  and  then 

94 


A  MO  TINT AIN  PICNIC.  95 

he  took  her  arm  gently  and  walked  with  her  a  little 
ways  from  me  to  plead  with  her.  The  woman  who 
hesitates  is  lost,  said  I  to  myself,  and  went  along  by  the 
stream.  I  am  always  soothed  by  the  sound  of  rushing 
water  and  I  thought  idly,  what  matters  it,  as  Con  says, 
are  we  not  all  skeletons  and  go  back  to  dust?  When  we 
are  buried  a  hundred  years  that  brook  will  still  ripple 
over  the  rocks  and  the  sunlight  flicker  through  the 
pines?  Why  spoil  a  lovely  day  with  human  beings  any- 
way?   I  was  too  near  the  grave  to  be  particular. 

Jones  unharnessed  the  horses  while  we  sat  and  talked 
as  nice  as  you  please,  and  I  never  knew  before  what  a 
finely  educated  man  Con  Murphy  was,  and  how  danger- 
ously winning  he  could  be.  Ballinger  was  merry  enough 
too,  Mrs.  Beach  joking  him  about  building  a  railroad 
to  Erin,  for  it  seems  though  he  spent  his  days  in 
idleness,  he  was  educated  to  be  a  civil  engineer.  Babe, 
under  the  spell  of  his  presence,  grew  very  sweet  and 
bright,  meeting  his  gaze  with  sweet,  shy  blushes, 
looking  so  radiant  that  I  saw  Con  give  her  a  deep  soul- 
reading  look  and  turn  away  with  a  sigh.  That  day  was 
one  of  those  stolen  moments  in  life,  that,  though  we 
may  regret  them  afterwards  and  their  consequences,  are 
marvelously  beautiful  in  the  passing. 

After  an  hour,  Jones  and  Mrs.  Beach  unpacked  the 
hamper,  and  what  a  spread,  as  Ballinger  said,  we  had. 
There  was  cold  turkey,  ham,  chicken,  all  sorts  of  pot- 
ted meats,  bread,  cakes,  pickles,  luscious  berries  and 
fruit,  and  champagne,  and  ice  for  it  in  a  pail.  I 
remembered  we  were  pretty  well  buried  in  bundles,  but 


*  »- 


96  BABE  MURPHY. 

the  carriage  was  roomy.  I  watched  Mrs.  Beach,  to  see 
if  she  had  brought  those  little  glasses,  thinking  of  her 
delicate  taste,  but,  dear  me,  these  were  generous  and 
large,  I  can  tell  you.  I  have  a  partiality  for  champagne, 
myself.  I  never  tasted  it  until  I  was  fifty,  and  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  say  that  it  is  the  nearest  to  love  and  moon- 
shine I  shall  ever  get.  Dear  me,  how  polite  and  flatter- 
ing they  all  were  to  me,  and  I  found  I  was  smirking  and 
chatting  too,  merry  enough,  though  my  New  England 
conscience  gave  a  twinge  now  and  then. 

Babe  barely  touched  her  glass.  fi  Pa  brought  me  up 
on  it,"  she  laughed,  when  Ballinger  pressed  her  to  drink, 
"I  have  no  taste  for  any  liquor." 

" Tired  of  champagne  at  eighteen,"  said  Ballinger; 
"you  mountain  princess." 

' e  We  have  had  periods  of  champagne  followed  by 
skim  milk,"  said  Murphy,  "  latterly  very  skim  milk." 

Mrs.  Beach,  after  the  champagne,  of  which  she  took 
a  plenty,  I  assure  you,  got  very  witty  and  chatty.  She 
had  Jones  come  get  his  dinner,  that  he  ate  sitting  at  a 
proper  distance,  she  sang  songs,  some  in  French,  and 
told  stories  all  perfectly  proper  and  was  so  merry,  Bal- 
linger said,  "Why,  Clara,  you  act  like  a  girl  out  of 
school." 

I  liked  it  in  her  that  she  never  mentioned  Beach  at 
ally  it  would  have  hurt  my  sense  of  right  and  decency; 
still,  there  we  all  sat  and  ate  and  drank  what  his  money 
had  paid  for,  like  a  lot  of  ghouls  in  a  graveyard,  jesting 
in  our  hearts  at  the  corpse  that  furnished  the  meal.  I 
think  it  must  have  been  the  drink  that  made  me  think 
of  such  uncanny  things. 


A  MOUNTAIN  PICNIC.  97 

After  we  had  feasted  with  no  handwriting  on  the 
wall  like  Belshazzar  saw,  nor  no  wall  either,  only  the 
rustling  trees  and  musical  brook,  Con  Murphy  drew  out 
a  silver  case  and  tossed  it  in  Clara's  lap. 

"  You  taught  me,  Tom,"  she  said  with  a  little  appeal- 
ing look,  and  drew  out  a  cigarette.  She  lit  it  at  the 
cigar  Con  had  lighted,  and  began  to  smoke  as  gracefully 
as  a  Spanish  woman,  as  if  it  was  no  new  thing. 

"Does  it  shock  you?"  Ballinger  asked  Babe. 

"  I  have  seen  papa's  friends  smoke  before/'  she  said, 
demurely,  giving  Clara  a  real  womanly  stab. 

"  A  second  Daniel  come  to  judgment,"  sneered  Con. 

"Bless  the  girl's  heart,"  laughed  Mrs. Beach,  "what 
a  sour  old  thing  she  tries  to  be.  You  must  break  her  of 
that,  Tom,  there  are  too  many  bitter  women  with 
barbed  tongues.  Men  would  be  more  faithful  if  their 
wives  were  more  agreeable  and  not  so  femininely  spite- 
ful.    I  was  only  afraid  I  would  shock  Wilder. " 

"You  don't,"  I  said,  slowly,  "there  are  lots  of  good 
souls  in  Southport  who  smoke  pipes  and  take  a  sight 
of  comfort  in  it.  I  don't  know  what  I  may  do  myself, 
when  I'm  a  bit  older.  I  don't  see  why  men  should  have 
all  the  pleasures  in  life,  and  tobacco  does  seem  agreea- 
ble. Maybe  some  cross,  nervous  women  would  be  better 
to  smoke." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Wilder,"  said  Con,  soberly, 
"but  did  you  come  out  of  Maine?"  I  had  to  giggle 
then  like  the  rest  of  the  light-minded  creatures. 

"I  never  dare  smoke  when  some  folks  are  at  home," 
said  Mrs.  Beach,  "but  Tom  and  I  used  to  when  we 


98  BABE  MURPHY. 

were  kids.  I  read  once,  in  a  newspaper  article  written 
by  a  man,  a  pathetic  picture  of  a  man's  distress  at 
smelling  smoke  in  his  lady-love's  hair.  Better  than 
onions  and  cheap  cologne,  and  certainly  the  bad  whisky 
in  his  own  breath." 

"But  all  the  same/'  said  Con,  wickedly,  "you  dare 
not  let  the  smoke  odor  be  about  your  pretty  self  a  week 
from  now." 

She  held  her  chin  in  her  hand  and  looked  at  him 
saucily. 

"  You  think  you  are  witty,  Con,  but  you  are  only 
aggravating,  sort  of  stumping  me,  as  Tom  used  to,  and 
I  would  break  my  neck  rather  than  take  a  stump.  Do 
you  know  I  have  not  been  on  a  horse  for  five  years,  and 
Tom  and  I  were  so  fond  of  it.  I  am  now  supposed  to  be 
too  frail  and  to  be  a  womanly  woman.  Lord,  I  believe 
a  man  could  talk  a  healthy  wife  into  being  a  life-long 
invalid.  Tom  used  to  teach  me  to  be  gritty.  I  want 
to  be  gritty  now,  Con,  and  ride  that  big  horse  of  yours.'" 

"That  you  shall,"  he  said,  jumping  up,  a  strange, 
bright  look  in  his  eyes.  He  threw  away  his  cigar  and 
helped  her  to  her  feet.  They  walked  over  to  the  horses 
and  he  put  Babe's  saddle  on  the  big  bay,  taking  Bal- 
linger's  horse  for  himself. 

"  I  haven't  any  habit,  but  my  gown  is  limpy  and  long," 
she  said,  "and  you  can  all  shut  your  eyes  if  I  look  too 
disgraceful." 

She  put  out  a  pretty  foot  and  Murphy  lifted  her, 
light  as  a  bird,  into  the  saddle,  and  I  must  say  she  sat 
the  horse  well.     What  a  changed  woman  she  was  this 


A  MO  UNTAIN  PICNIC.  99 

day,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  fun,  her  rosy  lips  tremu- 
lous with  happiness,  a  faint,  pink  tint  in  her  cheeks  and 
a  reckless  daring  in  look  and  manner  so  utterly  differ- 
ent from  her  cold  repellent  way  with  Beach.  I  won- 
dered, as  I  watched  her,  why  it  is  naughty  women  are 
so  much  better  company  than  those  good  domes- 
tic souls  with  no  thoughts  beyond  their  husbands, 
homes  and  children,  and  their  little  narrow-mindedness 
that  makes  them  think  with  sour  envy  a  bright  woman 
must  be  bad,  and  treat  her  with  disdain.  I  know  one 
wife  with  intellect,  and  good,  too,  and  she  told  me  on 
her  word  she  had  to  make  other  men  fall  in  love  with 
her  to  make  her  husband  think  she  was  of  any  attract- 
iveness, and  ever  after  he  admired  her.  In  that  case, 
though,  it  was  rather  dangerous,  I  think,  and  it  was  a 
merciful  thing  the  husband  did  not  do  any  shooting 
before  he  found  out  his  wife's  laudable  intentions. 
When  Murphy  and  Mrs.  Beach  rode  off,  he  very  near 
her,  with  that  eager  look  in  his  face,  living  in  her  smile, 
knowing  nothing  on  earth  or  in  the  life  to  follow  but 
that  she  was  with  him  and  was  happy,  I  told  Babe  to 
stay  beside  me  and  I  would  take  a  nap.  She  made  me 
comfortable  with  shawls,  and,  as  I  drifted  away  into 
dreamland,  I  saw  she  was  sitting  with  her  back  against 
an  old  pine  and  Tom  was  lying  at  her  feet,  his  elbow 
on  the  skirt  of  her  habit,  reading  a  book  he  had  brought 
with  him.  He  seemed  to  have  taken  up  at  some  place 
they  had  been  reading,  and  I  listened  to  the  poetry  of 
Elaine's  story,  in  Tennyson's  beautiful  language  that 
seems  to  suit  young  love  and  summer  time  best  of  all 
written  words: 


100  BABE  MURPHY. 

"Sweet  is  true  love,  tho'  given  in  vain,  in  vain, 

And  sweet  is  death  who  puts  an  end  to  pain. 
I  know  not  which  is  sweeter,  no,  not  I. 

"Love  art  thou  sweet?    then  bitter  death  must  be: 

Love,  thou  art  bitter;  sweet  is  death  to  me 
O  Love,  if  death  be  sweeter  let  me  die." 

His  voice  was  pleasant  and  mellow,  and  his  reading, 
touching,  I  thought,  because  he  loved.  Kone  ever  read 
of  love  so  well  as  those  who  love.  When  I  awoke,  after 
a  short  time,  he  had  half  closed  the  book  and  was  talk- 
ing to  her,  watching  her  face  with  those  beautiful  brown 
eyes  of  his — his  only  handsome  feature,  I  think.  I  do 
believe  eyes  are  windows  of  the  soul,  and  Hike  a  bright, 
honest  gaze  like  his. 

"  So  groaned  Sir  Launcelot  in  remorseful  pain: 
Not  knowing  he  should  die  a  holy  man." 

"How  little  any  of  us  know  how  we  shall  die  and  when/' 
he  said,  "  I  might  think  as  your  father  does,  we  have 
only  the  present,  we  can  not  help  the  future  or  blot  out 
the  past.     Live  as  we  like,  for  we  die  the  morrow." 

"But  we  don't  die/'  persisted  Babe;  "we  live  and 
grow  old  and  suffer  the  consequences  of  our  misdeeds." 

"Where  did  you  learn  your  wisdom,  3-011  wild  girl  of 
the  mountains?  You  don't  believe  it  either,  and  you 
think  as  I  do  that  Launcelot  might  have  stayed  with 
Elaine's  relations  and  won  her  love  and  taken  her  with 
him,  instead  of  running  away  as  he  did." 

"If  he  had  not  loved  her  enough  to  wed  with  her,  she 
would  have  died  broken-hearted." 

"  She  died  anyway." 


A  MOUNTAIN  PIONIG.  101 

"  But  she  died  a  lily-maid.  Her  innocent  love  cast  a 
shadow  over  the  guilty  soul  of  the  queen,  and  Launcelot, 
if  he  did  not  love  Elaine,  must  have  thought  her  love 
beautiful  and  pure." 

"But  girls  do  not  die  of  love, "  said  Mr.  Ballinger, 
decidedly,  "I  believe  they  used  in  old-fashioned  books 
of  the  Clarissa  and  Pamela  age.  Nowadays  we  want  to 
read  of  such  loves  as  Launcelot's  and  Guinevere's.  Don't 
you  read  Ouida  and  Braddon  and  the  rest  of  them  and 
know  of  modern  plays?  Why  the  world  runs  mad 
over  'Camille/  "Forget  Me  Not/  'Frou  Frou/  l La- 
Belle  Kusse'and  those.  Oh,  I  don't  mean  but  that  we 
want  a  moral  sentiment  sandwiched  in,  but  we  go  to 
have  our  nerves  thrilled  and  our  blood  stirred  and  to  see 
other  people  naughty,  if  we  dare  not  be.  Perhaps  you 
have  not  seen  those  plays?" 

"I  know  the  stories,  father's  books  are  all  that  kind." 

"High  seasoned,  eh?  Maybe  like  an  aunt  of  mine 
you  read  '  Zola/  and  keep  the  awful  books  hidden 
under  the  mattress. 

"I  read  him  openly/'  she  said,  wearily;  "he  is  the 
only  one  who  tells  the  truth,  he  and  the  medical  books.  I 
have  read  novels  and  been  intoxicated  with  the  glory  of 
sin,  the  splendor  of  its  surroundings,  and  I  felt  how  grand 
it  would  be  to  be  beautiful  and  soulless  and  all  that,  but 
Zola  always  brought  me  to  reason.  In  his  books  I  see 
what  I  myself  have  seen.  The  vice  that  ends  in  low 
dance  houses,  the  police  station  and  starvation  in  the 
gutter,  and  sin  never  could  be  attractive  to  those  who 
are  forced  to  see  the  ending.     But  I  hate  Zola,  and  all 


102  BABE  MUIiPHY. 

the  rest.  Live  all  your  life  in  a  mining  camp,  forced  into 
its  worst  side  as  I  have  been,  and  then  wonder  why 
such  books  make  me  utterly  weary.  I  seem  like  some 
old  roue,  give  me  buttercups  and  daises  and  spring  water. 
I  am  soul -tired  of  hot-house  flowers  and  scorched  with 
absinthe.  I  am  only  eighteen  and  I  talk  like  this.  So 
I  beg  you  read  of  Elaine,  of  Enid,  of  the  sweet  prin- 
cess and  her  University,  not  of  Guinevere,  Vivien  and 
Ettarre,  there  are  no  nice  distinctions  in  sin  to  me." 

"  Do  you  never  fear  that  you  judge  too  harshly,  and 
may  fall  from  your  high  position?"  he  said,  quietly. 
"You  are  so  young." 

"  I  am  not  young,  I  never  was,"  she  cried,  bitterly. 
"  I  never  had  an  innocent  childhood.  Oh,  it  is  a 
wicked  thing  to  soil  the  white  soul  of  a  child." 

' '  You  talk  so  bitterly,  if  one  did  not  know  you — 
you —  " 

"Hush,"  she  said,  imperiously,  "don't  give  me  a 
stab  like  the  rest." 

He  reached  up  and  took  her  hand  and  drew  it  to  his 
lips.  I  knew  by  her  start  and  blush  it  was  his  first 
caress.     Still  keeping  her  hand,  he  said  : 

"  Shall  I  read  you  some  more?  What  a  pretty  hand 
you  have  for  such  a  big  girl.  It  is  so  well  shaped,  with 
rosy  nails,  pink  and  soft.  What  ever  possessed  your 
father  to  bury  himself  here?" 

"  lie  dissipated  his  fortune,  ran  away  from  college 
without  finishing  his  studies,  and  equipped  with  no  pro- 
fession, found,  when  his  money  was  gone,  nothing  to  do, 
drifted  into  mining,  and  is  where  you  see  him.      Like 


A  MO  TTNTAIN  PICNIC.  103 

all  who  wait  for  dead  men's  shoes,  the  wealth  brings 
little  blessing,  it  may  give  joy  while  it  lasts,  but  gives 
no  promise  of  future  good  when  it  is  gone.  Better  a 
thousand  times  a  man  earn  his  fortune." 

He  flung  her  hand  away  and  sat  up.  "  Who  are  you 
driving  at?  I  would  like  you  to  know  I  graduated  as  a 
civil  engineer." 

"  It  don't  make  you  civil,  it  seems/' 

(( Old  and  mossy  thy  jest  fair  maid.  I  would  like 
you  to  know  that  my  mother  is  rich  and  don't  want  me 
to  work.  Suppose  I  did,  and  took  a  job  away  from  some 
poor  fellow  that  needed  it?  You  may  curl  your  short 
upper  lip,  and  scorn  comes  mighty  easy  to  you,  but  I 
like  money  and  good  clothes,  and  twenty  centers  when 
I'm  flush,  cigars  I  mean,  and  I  don't  like  grubbing.  I 
have  been  slimy  poor,  went  barefooted  and  had  my 
father's  trousers  cut  over  for  me  and  envied  the  boys 
who  had  store-made  clothes  that  were  not  mother- 
cut  and  looking  sawed-off  like  mine.  The  fellows  that 
work  when  they  don't  have  to,  live  only  in  books.  I'm 
not  going  to  get  wobble-legged  and  bow-shouldered  for 
theories.  Did  you  ever  see  a  middle-aged  man  who  had 
worked  at  manual  labor  all  his  life  that  wasn't  weary- 
eyed,  and  that  did  not  walk  tired,  whose  sinews  and 
muscles  were  not  distorted  and  misshapen.  I've  watched 
the  tin-pail  brigade  go  by  at  daylight,  and,  God,  I've 
pitied  them."  He  straightened  his  handsome  figure, 
looking  at  her  very  soberly. 

"  I  am  not  discussing  dudes,  if  you  please,  I  am  talk- 
ing of  Americans,  dudes  are  a  remnant  of  the  idiotic 


104  BABE  MURPHY. 

period  of  the  century,  and  will  soon  go  and  meet  the 
dodo,  but  honestly,  if  mother  hadn't  married  old  How- 
ard I  would  be  a  railroad  engineer  now;  made  up  my 
mind  to  be  one  when  I  was  a  kid.  By  Jove,  they  are 
nervy  fellows  too,  always  the  first  to  be  killed,  ex 
pected  to  be  a  hero  and  stick  to  his  post  to  save  a  train 
and  get  hardly  a  line  in  the  paper  about  it,  not  much 
comfort  though  to  him  in  it,  but  if  some  railroad  owner 
who  has  grabbed,  cheated  and  gulled  millions  out  of  the 
public,  gets  his  toe  hurt,  the  papers  slop  over  columns 
about  it.  The  grimy  fellow  in  the  flannel  shirt  gets 
ground  up  and  mangled  and  everybody  says,  only  the 
engineer,  and  he  ought  to  have  stuck  by  his  post.  The 
fellow  that  dies  with  his  hand  on  the  throttle-valve  is 
the  only  hero  left  nowadays,  say  I." 

"You  really  like  work,  you  know  it,"  she  said 
eagerly,  her  sweet  face  glowing  with  pleasure  and  pride 
in  him. 

"No,  I  don't.  Say  now,"  sitting  by  her  side,  "  those 
miners  told  me  about  you  when  Finnerty  was  killed, 
was  going  down  to  look  for  him  yourself.  You  are 
gritty,  as  Clara  says.  Hartman  told  me  about  that  En- 
glishman, too — " 

"Oh,"  she  cried  pitifully,  "never  that,  it  is  too  hard." 

"  It  makes  me  like  you  more,  and  if  I  ever  meet  him 
Fll  smash  his  head.  I  don't  believe  I  was  unconscious 
all  the  time  down  that  caiion  either.  You  were  nervy 
then,  and  that  salt—"    He  laughed  and  looked  at  her. 

"Miners  are  brave  men,"  she  said,  uneasily  looking 
away;  "  they  work  underground  where  an  accident  will 


A  MO  UNTAIN  PICNIC.  105 

suffocate  them  in  an  instant.  Think  of  those  stopes 
where  a  man  works  with  a  pick  by  the  light  of  a  candle 
in  a  little  rock  chamber  like  a  grave,  and  where  his  only 
egress  is  a  hole  just  big  enough  for  his  body." 

"J.  remember  an  accident  at  Crested  Butte  in  a  coal 
mine;  was  out  there  with  a  friend  of  mine",  a  reporter. 
The  poor  dead  men  were  all  blackened  and  burnt,  and 
each  held  his  arm  before  his  eyes — the  last  unconscious 
act  in  his  agony.  It  is  a  horrible  world  to  some,  this  of 
ours,  and  to  some  how  easy  and  happy.  No  '  jestice  in 
it.  Why  did  you  draw  away  when  I  touched  you? 
You  are  offish  enough." 

s(  You  are  silly,"  with  a  vivid  blush. 

"  You  ought  to  see  some  of  the  girls  I  know  in  Boston 
with  their  seaside  manners  on,  and  waltz  with  them. 
Here,  you  brought  up  here  in  the  wilderness,  keep  a 
fellow  at  arm's  length." 

"Well?"    She  looked  at  him,  mischievously. 

"  You  hugged  me  that  day  I  was  hurt,  Missy?" 

<(  I  thought  you  were  a  tramp." 

"Fll  take  to  the  road,  then,  at  once.  That  faded 
green  habit  of  yours  I  shall  always  remember,  and  that 
circusy  trimming  that  scratched  my  cheek.  See  here," 
opening  a  pocket  book,  and  taking  out  a  slip  of  green 
cloth,  "here  is  a  piece  of  it,  didn't  think  I  was  so  soft, 
did  you?" 

She  blushed  then,  looking  wonderfully  sweet  and 
pretty.  He  drew  nearer  to  her,  a  sort  of  light  in  his 
face.  He  had  lost  much  of  his  bluffness  and  boyish 
ways  under  his  cousin's  influence,  and  the  change  was 


106  BABE  MURPHY. 

not  pleasant  to  me.  I  hated  to  think  he  would  grow 
like  her,  I  liked  his  manliness  and  openness  far  better 
than  his  new  manner,  but,  after  all,  possibly  the  last 
mood  was  the  most  natural. 

"Please  read  some  more,"  she  said,  timidly,  meet- 
ing his  eager  gaze  and  turning  her  head  away. 

"You  coward, "  he  hissed  with  intense  scorn,  and 
clutched  the  book,  beginning  to  read  in  a  droning  voice: 

"Queen  Guinevere  had  fled  the  court,  and  sat 
There  in  the  holy  house  at  Almesbury 
Weeping,  none  with  her  save  a  little  maid," 

"Don't  read  of  King  Arthur,  please." 

"H'm,"  looking  at  her  severely,  "rather  hear  of 
Launcelot?" 

"  I  pity  Arthur.  He  was  so  good  and  true,  and  how 
can  a  woman  be  false  to  a  man  who  lovesand  trustsher? 
Yet,  he  must  have  made  her  weary,  he  might  have  been 
a  cold-mannered,  good  man,  who  did  not  know  how  to 
flatter  and  pet  her.  Perhaps  he  held  her  to  the  narrow 
circle  of  his  wishes,  enclosed  her  with  his  nobleness  and 
stifled  her  woman's  soul/' 

"She  fell  in  love,  and  that's  all  the  answer  there  is, 
and  you  can't  think  of  Clara  and  your  father,  and  pity 
Beach  and  all  in  that  underhand  way.  I  know  what 
you  mean.  There  used  to  be  a  big  lubberly  boy  lived 
neighbor  to  me,  and  every  time  I  had  pie,  he  stole  it,  he 
could  lick  me,  and  he  used  to  say,  as  he  sat  coolly  on  his 
own  steps  and  ate  my  pie,  'What  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?'" 

"  AVhy  don't  you  do  something?" 


A  MO  UNTAIN  PICNIC.  107 

"They  can  all  steal  my  pie,  that's  why.  But  I  try 
to  watch  over  Clara,  and  you  ought  to  over  your  father.'' 

"  I  hate  her  and  Beach  ;  I  wish  her  husband  any 
evil  but  that." 

"But  what?" 

"You  know,  well  enough/' 

"  A  queer  world  this,  old  Beach  stole  your  father's 
mine  and  the  world  applauds  him,  he  won,  you  know. 
Let  Murphy  steal  Beach's  wife  and  everything  is  terrible 
and  Beach  the  most  abused  man.  Poor  Clara,  her 
mother  is  an  old  fiend  and  she  married  Beach  to  get  away, 
they  were  nearly  broke,  the  old  lady  tried  to  catch  Beach 
herself,  no  go  and  Clara  took  him.  She  thought  she'd 
have  things  like  wives  do  in  English  novels,  a  city  home 
and  all  she  wanted.  She  was  brought  to  this  forsaken 
hole  and  penned  up  here  and  I  can't  blame  her  for  get- 
ting desperate.  The  only  sensible  thing  Beach  did  was 
to  bundle  the  old  lady  off  the  premises  and  pay  her  to 
stay  away." 

"  Let's  quit  scandal  and  read  some  more.  Let's  for- 
get people  and  go  into  fairyland." 

"If  I  went  into  fairyland,"  he  said,  quickly,  his 
breath  coming  fast,  his  eyes  darkening,  his  lips  tremu- 
lous, "I  would  not  read  books,  I  would  make  love  to 
you.  You  proud,  beautiful  thing,  the  only  woman  I  ever 
loved.  No,  no  I've  got  your  hand,  you  shall  not  draw 
it  away.  Give  in  to  my  superior  strength.  I  tell  you  I 
love  you,  your  eyes  are  beautiful,  your  mouth  the  sweet- 
est in  the  world,  you  are  the  dearest  loveliest  girl,  and  I 
talk  like  a  fool  because  I  am  mad  over  you.    I  have  no 


108  BABE  MURPHY. 

sense  where  you  are,  I  only  know  I  love  you,  I  love  you. 
Now  don't  you  cackle  and  wake  the  old  lady.  Bless  her 
old  cork-screw  curls  I'd  make  an  ally  of  her  easy  enough. 
I  could  make  anyone  like  me  but  you,  you  icicle." 

He  flung  his  arm  around  her  and  drew  her  close  to 
him  and  it  did  strike  me  she  did  not  struggle  very  hard. 
He  held  her  chin  tight  and  looked  into  her  eyes.  "Are 
you  mad,  tell  me  ?  You  can't  look  at  me  (triumphantly). 
You  are  as  red  as  a  beet,  but  prettier  than  ever.  You 
have  got  a  dimple  in  your  left  cheek  when  you  smile 
like  that  and  how  hard  you  try  to  look  cross." 

"  You  are  unmanly." 

"  I  thought  otherwise,  I  would  be  a  dead  man  not  to 
love  you.     Say  you  hate  me." 

"I  do." 

"Say  you  despise  me." 

"  I  do,  let  me  go." 

"  "Well,  just  look  at  me  and  say  it.  Oh,  I  know  your 
eyelashes  are  fine.  All  girls  like  to  look  like  that,  it's 
fetching.  Say  honestly,  had  you  rather  I  would  not  kiss 
you  ?  and  look  me  straight  in  the  eye." 

I  did  not  see  any  considerable  effort  on  her  part  to 
accomplish  a  very  simple  thing.  She  only  hung  her 
head  and  looked  dangerously  sweet.  For  pity's  sakes,  I 
thought,  why  don't  you  kiss  her,  you  would  if  you  were 
not  a  wooden  man.  There  was  a  silence  for  a  moment,  and 
then  I  knew  he'd  kissed  her  and  she  did  not  object. 
All  right,  my  lady,  thought  I,  you  are  like  all  the  rest, 
just  let  the  right  man  come  along  and  where  are  you  ? 
It  was  quite  time,  I  thought,  that  I  was  waking  up,  so  I 


A  MO  UNTAIN  PICNIC.  109 

discreetly  coughed  and  stirred  under  the  shawl.  Babe, 
very  blushing  and  tremulous  about  the  lips,  came  trip- 
ping over  to  me. 

"Did  you  sleep  well,  dear?"  asked  that  arch 
hypocrite. 

'.*  I  hope  you  did,"  grinned  Ballinger,  lighting  a 
cigar. 

"  I  may  have  dreamed  of  silly  people,"  I  said,  glum- 
ly, "but  all  can't  be  young,  nor  all  days  like  this.  Some- 
how or  other  I  have  been  thinking  of  a  sea-faring  man 
I  used  to  know,  Captain  McCrate  of  the  schooner 
Clarinda,  lost  on  the  banks  thirty  years  ago.  He  is  one  of 
those  skeletons  you  talk  about  now,  Babe,  and  I  am 
a  wrinkled  old  hag." 

"  Never,  you  dear  thing," she  says,  kissing  me,  "with 
your  rose-leaf  skin,  your  bright  eyes,  your  dear  little 
curls,"  and  then  he  too  began  to  flatter  me,  until  I  said, 
severely : 

"I  suppose  you  two  think  I  can  be  bamboozled  into 
anything.  I  shall  be  tired  of  being  an  accessory  byme- 
by  I  tell  you,  so  there." 

Soon  I  heard  Mrs.  Beach's  laugh,  and  she  and  Mur- 
phy rode  down  the  glen.  She  was  flushed  and  bright- 
eyed,  her  hair  all  disordered,  her  laugh  louder  than  I 
ever  heard,  looking  like  a  rosy  hoiden,  then  shortly  we 
all  went  home. 

Of  course  I  had  not  sense  enough  to  stop  then,  there 
were  picnics  and  junketings  almost  every  day,  and  every 
evening  Mrs.  Beach,  Tom  and  Murphy  were  at  my 
house.     It  was  lively  and  pleasant,  and  my  dear  girl 


110  BABE  MURPHY. 

was  so  happy  with  her  lover.  She  seemed  to  live  in  a 
kind  of  dream,  smiling  always,  her  eyes  bright  and 
beautiful,  bits  of  song  on  her  lips,  and  a  new  attention 
to  her  dress  and  ribbons.  His  was  the  stronger  will, 
and  he  swayed  her  more  than  I  ever  thought  she  would 
give  in  to  any  one,  still  I  never  feared,  for  he  loved  her 
passionately,  he  was  manly  and  good,  and,  dear  me,  how 
pleasant  their  love-making  was  to  me,  a  contrast  to 
Mrs.  Beach  and  Con.  I  am  partial  myself  to  those  old- 
time  books  that  ended,  they  were  married,  and  lived 
happy  ever  afterwards.  I  don't  like  the  modern  novel 
that  begins,  they  were  married  and  lived  unhappy  ever 
afterwards,  and  broke  several  of  the  commandments. 


CHAPTEK  XI. 

"SWEET    IS    TRUE    LOVE.  " 

I  felt,  right  along,  the  life  in  these  few  weeks  was  un- 
real and  unnatural,  and  what  troubled  me  most  now  was 
the  change  in  Mrs.  Beach  that  her  husband  must  see 
when  he  returned.  Her  gowns  were  gorgeous  in  color 
and  texture,  she  flashed  with  jewels,  and  every  trace  of 
her  quiet  manner  was  utterly  gone.  She  was  gay  with 
a  mad  recklessness  of  word  and  look,  radiant  and  witty, 
and  a  new  life  shone  in  her  eyes  and  colored  her  cheeks. 
Con,  on  the  other  hand,  had  grown  silent,  seldom  speak- 
ing, absorbed  in  her,  devouring  her  always  with  his 
passionate  eyes,  obeying  her  slightest  command,  slave 
entirely  to  her  will.  Oh,  I  was  weary  of  them,  why 
should  they  sully  my  darling's  love  story  with  their  sin? 
Folks  in  town  had  begun  to  talk,  and  Mrs.  Finnerty 
told  me  Con  had  been  seen  at  Beach's  house  late  at  night 
and  that  they,  Con  and  Mrs.  Beach  had  lost  all  caution. 
I  could  understand  Clara  better  now.  It  is  more  a 
woman's  nature  to  tire  of  restraint  and  deceit,  to  fling 
to  the  winds  all  subterfuge  when  she  loves.  She  has, 
too,  a  desire  to  hurt  the  man  who  holds  her  captive, 
that  a  man  never  has,  he  is  always  looking  for  conse- 
quences and  what  the  world  will  say.  So  I  was  right 
glad  on  the  evening   of  the  31st  of  October  to  see  the 

yellow  bronchos  coming  and  Jones  bringing  Mr.  Beach 

in 


112  BABE  MURPHY. 

home.  Beach  was  in  the  back  seat,  and  he  stopped 
the  horses  to  speak  with  me  and  shook  hands  very 
cordially  for  him,  in  his  clammy  way. 

"  I  hope  that  you  have  enlivened  Clara's  loneliness/' 
he  said,  kindly,  "she  must  have  felt  the  time  very  long. 
I  should  never  leave  her  were  it  not  for  the  pressure  of 
business." 

Jones  gave  me  a  sort  of  comical  look,  and  I  got  red  in 
the  face  and  uncomfortable. 

"I  should  think,"  I  blurted  out,  "you  were  most 
rich  enough  to  enjoy  yourself,  Mr.  Beach." 

"We  cannot  outlive  a  habit,"  he  said,  blandly;  "you 
have  had  a  little  vacation  I  hear.  I  am  glad  of  it,  and 
you  have  done  so  well  with  the  school,  really  most 
praiseworthy.  Looking  remarkably  well,  too,  our  Colo- 
rado climate  is  marvelous.  I  am  always  glad  to  be  back 
in  my  little  eyrie  in  the  hills,  so  I  will  bid  you  good 
evening,  as  Clara  must  be  expecting  me." 

Oh,  that  cold,  queer,  senseless  man,  and  I  did  feel  piti- 
ful and  mean-spirited,  like,  I  told  Babe,  I'd  been  steal- 
ing from  him.  She  came  and  hid  her  face  in  my  lap, 
and  I  saw  she  had  one  of  her  temper  spells  on,  so  wisely 
let  her  alone.  I  felt  her  shoulders  shake  with  her  sobs, 
those  deep,  dry,  pent-in  sobs,  as  if  her  heart  was  breaking, 
I  patted  her  hair  softly  and  put  my  arm  about  her.  It 
was  quite  dark,  but  Ballinger  knew  us  as  he  came  along 
the  road  and  called  out  a  cheerful  good  evening. 

"Is  Diana  crying?"  he  said,  sitting  down  near  her, 
"  I  didn't  know  she  ever  gave  in.  Headache  or  some- 
thing, I  suppose?"     She  would  not  speak,  and  he,  like 


"SWEET  IS  TRUE  LOVE."  113 

all  men,  when  a  woman  is  in  tears,  began  to  whistle 
softly  under  his  breath  and  kick  his  feet  restlessly. 

"  Guess  I'd  better  go." 

"  She  will  be  all  right  in  a  few  moments,  this  is  a 
clearing-up  shower,"  I  said. 

"  Shall  I  go,  Diana?" 

«  N_ no." 

"  Oh,  before  I  forget  it,  will  you  give  this  note  to  your 
father.  The  goodly  king  has  returned,  saw  you  not  the 
passing  of  Arthur?" 

"  I  won't  give  it  to  him,"  said  Babe,  angrily,  raising 
her  tear- wet  face,  ' '  and  I  am  ashamed  of  you  for  asking 
me.  I  won't  aid  them,  and  you  ought  to  be  decent 
enough  to  guard  your  cousin  instead  of  helping  her  in 
her  wickedness.     So  there!" 

"  Whew!  You  went  with  us  enough  behind  his  back 
all  the  same,  now  he's  home  you  are  awfully  goody. 
Say,  don't  be  cranky,  the  note  is  nothing,  Clara  let  me 
see  it,  let  Wilder  give  it  to  him." 

"She  shall  not,"  cried  Babe,  jumping  up,  in  a  fine 
passion.  "  She  has  suffered  enough  from  you  all.  Go, 
take  your  note  yourself,  and  I  thought  you  were  manly 
and  good,  and  I  find  you  as  mean  —  as  mean  —  as  they 
are,  I — I  almost  hate  you." 

"  Thanks,"  he  said,  coldly,  getting  up  in  a  temper, 
also,  "  I  will  take  myself  off.  I  must  say  you  are  a 
very  rude  young  person." 

So  he  departed,  whistling  in  an  aggravating  manner, 
and  stayed  away  for  a  week.  Poor  Babe  looked  pale 
and  woe-begone  enough,  and  Mrs.  Beach's  behavior 


114  BABE  MURPHY. 

almost  made  her  ill.  My  lady  came  every  day  to  meet 
Con  Murphy  at  my  house,  when  I  was  absent  at  school, 
and  Babe  would  cry  and  storm  about  it,  but  I  kept  her 
within  bounds  by  telling  her  I  did  not  care,  and  for  us 
to  be  patient,  that  it  would  come  out  all  right.  "  We 
brought  it  on  ourselves,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "  we  should 
never  have  gone  with  them  as  we  did;  let  us  take  our 
punishment,  for  it  is  in  good  part." 

Sunday  evening,  Babe,  who  had  been  in  bed  all 
day  with  a  sick  headache,  concluded  she  would  be  better 
on  the  porch.  She  put  on  her  best  wrapper,  a  delicate 
cream-colored  cashmere,  trimmed  with  fine  lace,  and 
I  braided  her  pretty  hair  for  her  and  fixed  her  up  com- 
fortably in  the  rocking  chair.  I  knew  well  enough  what 
that  gown  was  for,  and  why  she  had  that  wistful, 
expectant  look,  but  I  never  said  a  word.  I  looked  back 
and  saw  the  dog  was  with  her,  for  once  the  pesky 
creature  actually  followed  me  into  the  meeting  house, 
and  mortified  I  was.  The  church  bells  sounded  rarely 
sweet  in  the  quiet  air,  echoing  against  the  purple- 
shrouded  mountains,  and  all  the  earth  seemed  buried 
in  the  sweet  silence  of  a  Sunday  evening.  The  church 
was  well  filled  when  I  got  there,  and  folks  all  smiled 
kindly  on  me,  for  I  think  I  was  generally  liked.  Mr. 
Beach  was  buried  in  his  big  prayer  book,  with  its 
golden  monogram,  H.  D.  B.,  and  his  wife  trying  to 
look  downcast,  but  really  making  a  mockery  of  it,  for 
she  was  fairly  brilliant  with  happiness,  thinking,  I  sur- 
mised, of  Con.  I  saw  Beach's  cold  eyes  rest  on  her 
once  with  a  sort  of  pride,  and,  as  I  watched  his  face 


"SWEET  IS  TRUE  LOVE."  115 

light  up,  I  found  my  lips  saying,  "Lord,  have  mercy 
upon  us  miserable  sinners,  and  incline  our  hearts  to 
keep  thy  laws,"  all  jumbled  up  and  bothered. 

As  I  went  home  in  a  kind  of  maze,  thinking  of  the 
sermon  and  that  man  and  his  wife,  I  saw  ahead  a  tall, 
fci miliar  figure,  walking  in  a  reckless  sort  of  way,  slash- 
ing the  trees  with  a  cane.  So  Mr.  Ballinger  was  coming 
at  last.  I  did  not  want  my  presence  to  upset  them,  so 
slipped  home  on  a  side  path  and  went  in  the  back  door. 
If  the  window  was  open  behind  the  closed  blinds  I 
could  not  help  it,  the  noise  of  closing  it  would  have 
betrayed  me.  I  saw  Babe  walking  up  and  down  the 
porch,  her  long  gown  trailing  after  her,  her  braid 
of  hair  falling  down  her  back  and  her  dog  walking 
solemnly  beside  her.  She  was  so  white  and  worn  she 
looked  like  a  ghost  in  the  moonlight  in  that  pale  gown. 

"I  thought  you  were  a  ghost,"  said  Ballinger,  stop- 
ping at  the  foot  of  the  steps.     "  May  I  come  in?" 

"  Yes,"  carelessly. 

"I  am  better  company  than  a  dog/' 

' '  I  never  need  a  friend  when  I  have  Doc,"  she  an- 
swered, coolly. 

He  got  himself  a  chair.  "  Thanks,  I  will  sit  down," 
he  said,  mockingly,  "  won't  you?"  He  pushed  a  chair 
towards  her  that  she  sat  in  unwillingly.  "  How  ill  you 
look,"  he  said,  suddenly,  looking  into  her  face,  "and 
so  odd  with  your  hair  brushed  off  your  face.  I  like 
the  little  curls  over  your  forehead  better.  You're  a 
human  girl  then,  now  you  look  like  a  priestess,  a 
Norma."    He  began  to  hum  an  air,  I  suppose,  from 


116  BABE  MURPHY. 

that  opera.     "Will  you  hear  me,   Norma?"  he  said, 
abruptly. 

"It  is  late,"  she  stammered,  "I  must  not  keep  Miss 
Wilder  up;  I  have  made  her  home  uncomfortable 
enough  already." 

"Not  you,  Diana,  but  others,  and  I  guess  your  mean- 
ing. Oh,  my  love,"  taking  her  reluctant  hand,  "for- 
give me.  From  my  soul  I  am  sorry  and  ashamed.  I 
am  a  cad,  a  fool,  anything  you  will,  only  forgive  me." 
She  lifted  his  hand  to  her  soft  cheek  and  held  it 
there  a  moment.  "I  knew  you  were  different,  Tom," 
she  said,  gently,  "  and  forgive  me  for  being  so  angry 
that  day." 

"Don't  rate  me  higher  than  I  am,"  he  said,  irrita- 
bly, "  I  am  only  a  man,  and  some  time  you  may  hate  me. 
What  sort  of  a  girl  are  you,  so  hard  to  read?  Your  eyes 
mock  your  prim  ways,  and  your  theories  and  your 
bringing  up  give  the  lie  to  your  purity  and  truth." 

"Is  that  kind,  Tom?" 

"Kind.  It's  brutal,  but  I  say  it  because  I  love  you. 
I  have  lived  in  a  hell  the  past  week.  Clara  has  gone 
crazy,  I  believe.  She  has  lost  all  guard  over  herself, 
says  slang  words  before  Beach,  drinks  more  wine  at 
dinner  than  is  good  for  her,  laughs  at  her  work,  plays 
nothing  but  dance  music,  sings  only  naughty  songs. 
He  looks  at  her  as  if  he  were  in  a  horrible  dream.  He 
asked  me  last  night  if  I  thought  the  altitude  was  mak- 
ing her  too  nervous.  '  They  say  ladies  can  not  live  here 
a  long  time  without  change  of  climate  on  account  of 
nerves/  and  I  felt  a  fiendish  desire  to  say  women  and 


• 


M SWEET  IS  TRUE  LOVE."  117 

cats  can't,  astliey  do  say  c#n't  in  Leadville,  but  I  blurted 
out,  ( why  don't  you  take  her  away  V  He  would  think 
about  it,  he  answered,  so  gentlemanly,  and  such  a  fool 
that  I  give  him  up.  Clara  laughs  at  me,  and  your 
father  gallops  by  the  house  on  Beach's  own  land.  Beach 
said  the  other  night  in  that  slow  way  of  his,  '  I  wonder 
if  that  intoxicated  person  realizes  he  is  trespassing,'  and 
I  had  to  pinch  Clara  to  keep  her  from  saying  something 
mean." 

"Ann  and  I  are  thinking  of  going  away  as  soon  as 
this  term  is  over,"  said  Babe,  "we  can't  help  the  trou- 
bles, and  we  are  going  to  fly  from  them." 

"I  am  going  away  myself,  came  to  bid  you  good- 
bye," he  said,  earnestly,  "and  now  don't  speak  till  I'm 
through,  I  want  to  explain  matters  to  you.  You  know," 
taking  both  her  hands  and  drawing  close  to  her,  "that 
I  am  dependent  on  my  mother.  You  will  own  a  person 
can  not  live  without  money." 

"I  suppose  not,"  bewildered. 

""Well,  she  allows  me  three  thousand  a  year,  paid  in 
small  installments,  and  I  am  a  thousand  in  debt  now, 
suppose  I  make  her  mad,  why  she  shuts  down  on  me, 
don't  she?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  said,  wearily,  her  eyes  on  the 
bright  moon  rising  over  the  trees  across  the  road, 
bringing  a  kindly  silver  light  into  the  shadow. 

"  There  are  lots  of  old  catamarans  around  her  all 
the  time  to  tell  on  me,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  "  and  she  is 
terribly  unforgiving.  Suppose  I  tried  to  get  work,  it 
would  be  a  year  before  I  could  get  straightened  out, 


118  BABE  MURPHY. 

now  here  are  you,  and  I,  I  love  you,  and  you,  you  think 
something  of  me." 

"I— I  don't  know." 

"But  I  do,  and  I  know  you  are  sick  and  miserable 
because  I  did  not  come  last  week,  and  I  kicked  myself 
every  day  because  I  didn't,  but  I  wanted  you  to  feel 
how  you  would  enjoy  life  without  me,  but  it  seems  as 
if  we  couldn't  get  married." 

"  Not  for  years  and  years." 

"The  old  lady,  my  mother,  would  never  forgive  me 
if  I  married  without  her  consent.  She's  had  a  bitter 
experience  that  sets  her  against  matrimony  any  way. 
Then  her  pet  brother  married  a  servant  girl,  and  when 
his  daughter  got  to  be  a  young  lady  we  had  her  on 
to  visit  us  in  Boston.  A  regular  hoodlum  of  a  girl, 
brought  up  in  a  little  railroad  town,  and  mashed  on  all 
the  brakemen.  She  used  to  slip  out  nights  and  go  to 
shows  with  our  coachman.  Well,  we  fired  her  home,  and 
paid  the  rest  to  keep  away  from  us.  Then  my  own 
father  wasn't  any  too  pleasant  to  live  with,  they  were 
poor,  and  he  took  to  drinking,  and  it  was  only  when 
the  Duchess — mother — married  old  Howard  that  she 
ever  had  any  happiness.  She's  told  me,  she  can  forgive 
anything  but  my  marrying  without  her  consent.  I  was 
pretty  wild  at  college,  and  the  old  doctor  told  me  then, 
if  I  wanted  to  kill  my  mother,  I  couldn't  go  about  a 
quicker  way  than  to  shock  her  a  few  more  times  and 
make  her  grieved — I  believe  she  has  heart  disease,  for 
the  time  [  got  hurt  in  the  gymnasium  she  wasn't  told 
till  I  was  well." 


"SWEET  IS  TR UE  LO VE."  119 

"  Why  do  you  tell  me  all  this?"  said  Babe,  coldly. 

"For  God's  sake  be  human,"  he  said,  fiercely,  "you 
are  a  woman — act  like  one.  She  has  written  me  she 
wants  me  to  go  abroad  and  will  give  me  all  the  money  I 
need,  and  if  I  go  I  shall  not  go  alone.  Do  you  hear, 
pet?" 

"  Yes,"  in  a  quiet  voice. 

"You  can  go  to  New  York  and  wait  for  me  and  if  I 
see  the  Duchess  can't  be  moved  we  will  get  married  on 
the  sly  and  go  to  Europe  and  trust  to  time  to  make  her 
forgive  us,  though  she  must  not  know  until  she  is  well 
prepared." 

"  She  would  soon  find  out,  Tom,  and  in  her  anger 
leave  you  none  of  the  money  you  prize  so.  Your  wife 
would  have  ruined  you,  and  some  day  you  would  tell  me 
so  and  hate  me.  Poverty  brings  such  cares  and  weakens 
love,  it  tries  the  strongest  natures,  and  you,  who  have 
to  begin  to  work  late,  would  never  have  the  hope  and 
energy  of  a  lad.  I  would  rather  never  see  you  from  this 
moment  than  to  have  a  day  come  when  you  should  say  I 
had  spoiled  your  future  and  made  you  lose  all  life  had 
offered  so  lavishly  once.  Then  to  come  between  mother 
and  son.  You  will  find  me  firmer  than  those  mount- 
ains, Tom,  I  will  not  marry  you." 

"  Some  things  you  say  may  be  true,"  he  said,  slowly, 
"I  am  only  human,  and  I  have  poverty  and  the  worry- 
ing over  the  next  meal,  and  the  shabby  clothes,  and  the 
weary  eyes  and  wrinkles  it  gives  to  women  and  men. 
Then  I  do  love  my  mother,  she  has  been  awfully  good 
to  me,  hasn't  had  any  too  much  sunshine  in  her  life. 


120  BABE  MURPHY. 

Suppose  I  go  to  her  and  tell  her  about  you,  oh,  forgive 
me  for  saying  this,  my  own,  she  will  speak  of  your  life, 
ask  about  you,  and,  unreasoning,  in  anger  refuse  to  hear 
of  you  or  see  you." 

"I  know  all  that,"  said  Babe,  quietly,  "she will  not 
believe  I  am  a  good  girl." 

They  were  silent  a  moment,  then  he  spoke,  hoarsely: 
"what  are  you  going  to  do?  Sooner  or  later  Clara 
will  make  trouble,  Miss  Wilder  will  lose  the  school 
through  your  being  Murphy's  daughter,  and  Wilder  will 
stick  to  you  I  know,  what  will  become  of  you?" 

" 1  can  work." 

"  What  can  you  do,  pet?  "  half  ironically. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  sighed,  "  I  don't  know." 

"  Do  you  remember  a  talk  we  had  once,"  he  said, 
putting  his  arm  over  her  shoulder,  "when  you  told 
me  about  the  beliefs  of  your  lonely  childhood?  When 
no  one  loved  you  or  cared  about  you,  and  when  your 
father  went  away  or  had  his  queer  company  there,  you, 
a  frightened  little  child,  hid  away  and  read  old  books 
and  wanted  to  be  dead,  Babe.  You  told  me  then  that 
you  thought  as  we  went  back  to  dust  it  mattered  little 
how  soon  and  when.  You  had  seen  men  die  so  easily, 
you  said,  had  known  those  stoical  Chinaman,  had  seen 
in  a  riot  once  how  quietly  they  met  the  end.  You  told 
me  of  the  millions  of  dead  and  living,  and  you  said,  '  why 
should  I  care  about  me,  Babe  Murphy,  when  I  am  only 
a  passing  shadow/  " 

"I  have  said  silly,  senseless  things,  Tom,"  piteously, 
"don't  repeat  them,  please  do  not." 


" SWEET  IS  TRUE  LO VE."  121 

"But  is  it  not  so,  who  cares  about  the  dust  lain, 
buried  for  a  hundred  years,  whether  it  loved,  or  sinned, 
or  was  good?  When  I  get  old  I  shall  not  sit  and  mope 
over  the  sins  of  my  youth.  Even  if  Launcelot  died  a 
holy  man,  I  will  wager  my  soul  he  did  not  forget  the 
Queen's  kisses." 

"  I'm  not  old,  though,  and  the  skeleton  doctrine  was 
only  a  child's  fancy.  I  was  so  near  to  one  you  know," 
with  a  hysterical  laugh,  "I  grew  so  fast." 

"Don't  joke  with  me,  I  can't  bear  it.  Come,  walk,  I 
want  to  talk  to  you." 

"No." 

"What  are  you  afraid  of  ?" 

"Of  myself,  Tom,  don't  talk  to  me  any  more.  Go 
home,  for  Miss  Wilder  will  come  soon  and  I  don't  want 
her  troubled." 

"Well,  sit  there,  you  sour,  old  maid,  then,  and  grow 
like  Wilder  and  have  corkscrew  curls,  but  you  will  be  a 
gaunt  old  hag  when  you  are  old." 

He  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  porch,  she  sitting 
there  watching  him,  her  dog  beside  her,  his  long  head 
on  her  knee.  Then  she  rose  and  went  to  him.  "Tom, 
I  love  you,"  she  said,  softly;  "you  will  always  believe 
that?" 

"  No,  I  will  not.  If  you  do,  and  believe  in  your 
theories  that  we  are  only  dust,  and  have  nothing  to  lose 
— family,I  mean,and  that — for  sooner  or  later  your  father 
will  elope  with  Clara,  why  can't  you  come  with  me,  any 
way,  wife  or  no  wife?  Some  time,  when  my  mother  is 
dead — mind  you,  I'm  not  banking  on  that — or  has  for- 
given me,  I  will  marry  you,  dear." 


122  BABE  MURPHY. 

She  drew  away  from  him,  looking  stern  and  cold,  but 
he  caught  her  to  his  heart,  kissing  her  face,  her  hair, 
and  holding  both  her  hands. 

"Don't  look  at  me  so;  is  there  any  other  way?  Oh, 
love,  we  are  young  and  we  care  for  each  other;  we  only 
have  to-day;  we  may  be  dead  to-morrow.  Oh,  I  love 
you,  I  love  you,  'the  one  fair  woman  beneath  the  sun/ 
as  that  fellow  says.  What  do  you  care  for  the  world;  it 
looks  down  on  you;  it  says  you  were  brought  up  in  a 
mining-camp,  lived  with  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Daggett — 
says,  look  at  what  your  father  is,  a  gambler,  a  man  who 
defies  every  law." 

"Have  pity  on  me,"  she  cried,  miserably. 

"I  meant  to  show  you  the  truth;  you  are  an  outlaw, 
anyway.  The  world  is  cruel  and  hard  and  life  is  evil. 
Don't  the  stories  tell  us  a  life  lost  for  love  is  a  beautiful 
one?  Aren't  the  books  that  teach  old-fashioned  good- 
ness and  honor  little  read?  Why  should  you  and  I  go 
against  the  current?  This  is  an  age  of  Sunday-school 
superintendents  and  bank  cashiers  fleeing  to  Canada 
with  ill-gotten  gains;  there  is  no  honesty  anywhere  nor 
honest  men.  Every  man  has  his  price.  It  is  a  time 
when  broken  vows  don't  count,  when  we  read  of  mar- 
ried women's  love  affairs,  not  innocent  girls,  and  we 
welcome  back  those  who  have  run  away  with  their 
neighbors'  wives,  and  don't  blame  them  after  a  discreet 
time." 

"Never  the  women,  Tom." 

"They  can  be  actresses  then,  and  the  public  will  go 
mad  to  see  them,  or  they  can  write  of  their  sins  and  the 


"SWEET  IS  TRUE  LOVE."  123 

good  public  will  buy  their  books.  We  look  on  and 
laugh  at  the  King  Arthurs,  and  we  long  to  be  Launcelot 
and  love  as  he  did.  It  is  a  time  of  commonplace  hap- 
penings, but  of  minds  at  high  pressure,  and  evil  a  relief 
from  monotony.  It's  a  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  and  I 
talk  like  a  madman,  for  I  see  your  beautiful  eyes  and 
your  tremulous  mouth,  and  I  know  you  will  fling  every 
thought  to  the  winds  and  be  my  own.  They  say  men 
change,  but  I  never  could  with  you,  my  wife  always. " 

"If  you  have  any  mercy,  let  me  go,"  she  panted,  "do 
not  talk  to  me  like  that." 

I  heard  all,  but  I  would  not  stir  a  finger  to  stop  her. 
If  she  yielded,  there  was  no  faith  in  any  woman,  and  I 
wanted  my  love  for  her  to  die  right  then. 

"  You  can't  refuse  me  when  I  hold  you  like  this  and 
look  into  your  eyes.  Oh,  you  fair,  sweet  thing,  you 
neglected,  friendless  girl,  let  my  love  make  you  happy. 
Let  us  not  strive  against  fate." 

Suddenly  she  freed  herself  from  him  and  started  back, 
looking  so  white  and  noble,  so  true  a  woman,  that  he 
let  her  go  from  his  arms  and  hung  his  head.  "It  is  all 
wrong,  and  you  know  it,"  she  said,  pitifully,  "and  I, 
though  I  have  lived  through  insult  and  all  kinds  of 
sore  wounds,  have  never  been  hurt  like  this.  The 
man  I  loved  thought  I  could  be  like  that.  Yet  I 
long  for  you,  oh,  I  love  you  — "  He  started  towards 
her — "No,  don't,  please;  I  am  weary — worn  out.  I 
could  almost  go  with  you,  Tom,  after  all,  but  I  know  the 
other  side.  I  won't  go  down,  never,  I  will  break 
my  heart  first.     I  have  seen  the  ending,  the  waifs  from 


124  BABE  MURPHY. 

country  towns  led  by  love,  the  unfaithful  wives  from 
the  pages  of  novels;  I  knew  them  in  the  dance-houses, 
the  women  with  painted  faces  and  blonded  hair,  all  vul- 
gar, utterly  vulgar.  Vice  is  not  pretty,  attractive;  it 
has  no  charm;  it  is  utterly,  utterly  low.  I  know  'the 
wages  of  sin  is  death/  Not  even  my  love  for  you  could 
drag  me  to  their  level,  and  how,"  with  infinite  pathos, 
"could  you  ask  me?" 

"Because  I  loved  you." 

"And  that  was  what  your  love  meant  ?  And  I — I  shall 
love  you  always.  Let  that  content  you,  dear,  and  go 
away  and  never  come  back.  Drift  out  into  the  world 
and  forget  me,  that  is  the  only  way.  A  woman  is  only 
a  small  part  of  a  man's  life,  but  a  man  is  often  a^omfn's 
world." 

"You  are  all  of  my  life,"  he  said,  quietly,  "and 
though  I  am  stung  into  shame  and  misery,  I  won't  give 
you  up.  If  you  despise  me,  you  only  do  what  I  do  my- 
self. Me  a  Don  Juan,  I  must  have  been  mad.  You 
made  me  so,  for  I  intended  to  be  square.  Don't  talk  to 
other  people  as  you  have  to  me  of  being  dust  and  noth- 
ing mattering,  but  you  shan't,  for  I  am  coming  back  to 
marry  you.  You  are  like  that  flower  that  blooms  above 
timber-line  on  the  mountains,  the  storms  of  life  only 
make  you  purer  and  more  beautiful  in  soul.  0,  my  love, 
be  patient  with  me,  wait  for  me  to  work  out  the 
problem  of  our  happiness,  that  is,  if  you  love  me," 
fiercely. 

She  laid  her  head  on  his  breast.  "  I  know  you  do,"  he 
went  on,  brokenly,"  there  are  tears  in  my  eyes,  like  a  kid, 


■  ■  S  WEET  IS  TR  UE  LO  VE. "  1 20 

pshaw.     But  Pm  hit  hard,  it  kills  me  to  let  you  go, 
what  can  I  do?" 

"  Only  wait,  dear." 

"Ill  go  now,  for  I  shall  be  saying  things  I  should 
not " 

"It  is  best,  for,  for — "tremulously,  "I  can't  be  al- 
ways like  this.     Oh,  I  want  to  go  with  you." 

"Now  you  are  a  real  girl,"  he  said,  smiling,  "yon 
did  look  so  white  and  injured  and  that  hair  off  your  face 
changes  you  so.  Let  me  rumple  it  up  like  you  generally 
wear  it,  now  smile  at  me.  That  is  the  remembrance 
of  you  I  want  to  carry  away.  There  is  lots  of  love  and 
laughter  in  life,  and  some  day  we'll  be  steady,  old  married 
folks,  quarreling  over  my  going  out  nights  and  you  wait- 
ing for  me  with  a  club,  you're  most  too  strong  for  a  real 
obedient  wife.  We  won't  be  skeletons  yet  awhile, 
we'll  keep  the  flesh  on  our  bones  and  be  patient.  Look 
at  Wilder,  she's  waited  fifty  years  for  a  husband  and 
hasn't  given  up  hope  yet." 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  walking  right  out  and  looking 
at  him  severe  enough,  "she  had  better  wait  fifty  years 
before  she  marries  a  scamp  like  you." 

"  And  yon  heard  all,  you  old  listener  ? "  he  said, 
angrily. 

"  Why  don't  you  say,  old  sneak,  you  meant  it.  I  did 
hear  all,  Tom,"  I  went  on,  filling  up  a  little,  "I  was 
glad  to  see  my  dear  girl  is  good  and  true  and  that  you 
are  ashamed  of  yourself ;  and  my  blessing  on  you  both, 
and  my  promise  to  take  my  best  care  of  her  till  you  claim 
her  from  me.     Dear  she  is  to  me  as  if  I  had  found  that 


126  BABE  MURPHY, 

husband  you  said  I  was  waiting  for,  and  she  was  my 
child/' 

He  stooped  and  kissed  my  wrinkled  cheek.  "  Good- 
bye, you  dear  old  soul/'  he  said,  "think  well  of  me,  if 
you  can.  Be  sure  I  will  come  back  for  her."  He  turned 
to  Babe  and  put  his  arm  around  her,  "walk  to  the  road 
with  me  dear,  my  lady  love,  I'll  be  your  true  knight  all 
my  life.  I'll  go  find  the  holy  Grail,  but  whether  in  this 
case  it  means  the  Duchess'  consent  or  a  permanent  job, 
I  don't  know.  You  two  help  King  Arthur  if  you  can, 
I  give  it  up,  I  can  do  nothing.  Don't  call  to  me  in  the 
morning  when  I  pass  in  my  armor  with  my  war  horse,  or 
I'll  tujrn  back  like  a  coward."  He  turned  and  wrung 
my  hand,  something  shining  in  his  bonnie,  brown  eyes, 
the  manly,  good,  young  fellow.  I  did  like  him.  I 
watched  him  and  his  love  walk  away  together,  but  went  in 
before  they  parted. 

"My  heart  is  broken,  Ann,"  my  darling  sobbed 
when  she  came  in  and  knelt  beside  me,  hiding  her  face 
in  my  lap,  "if  he  should  never  come  back.  Life  can 
not  be  so  cruel,  and  he  was  not  bad,  Ann,  in  what  you 
heard,  I  led  him  on  I  know." 

"My  dear,"  I  said,  "  If  I  were  a  man  I  should  have 
talked  much  the  same;  you  are  a  strange  woman  in  a 
strange  place,  and  I  don't  misdoubt  most  men  would 
think  as  he  did  of  you,  that  you  would  go." 

"But  he  would  never  have  respected  me." 

"Never,  my  dear,  and  I  know  him  well  enough,  that, 
had  you  consented,  he  would  not  have  taken  you." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  it  ?"  eagerly. 


"  S  WEET  IS  TR  UE  L  0  T  IB. "  127 

"Quite,  my  dear,  he  is  a  good  man,  and  he  loves 
you." 

She  did  not  sleep  that  night  and  made  me  repeat 
praises  of  Ballinger  until  I  was  almost  worn  out.  At 
daybreak  we  heard  his  horse's  hoofs  and  caught  a  glimpse 
of  him  waving  his  hat  as  he  vanished  up  the  road,  and 
then  my  lady,  with  a  little  cry,  staggered  wildly  with 
outstretched  arms,  and  fainted  dead  away. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BABE    PLEADS   WITH    HER    FATHER. 

The 'day  after  Ballinger  went  away,  Babe  came  into 
my  school-room  looking  pale  and  anxious.  At  recess, 
while  the  children  were  playing  outside,  merry  enough, 
and  I  was  glad  there  was  something  that  did  not  have 
troubles,  though  they  probably  did  in  childland,  she 
told  me  what  was  worrying  her.  Jones,  the  negro,  had 
been  drinking  a  good  deal  lately,  and  had  been  talking 
about  Mrs.  Beach  and  Con  Murphy  in  the  saloons. 
Mrs.  Finnerty  had  come  to  her  and  begged  her  to  go 
warn  the  poor  lady,  for  her  name  was  on  everybody's 
tongue,  and  the  darky,  who  was  insolent  when  in  liquor, 
might  tell  Beach  any  time.  Well,  after  school,  who 
should  we  meet  but  Mrs.  Beach  herself,  and  Babe, 
blushing  painfully,  and  awkward  enough,  went  up  to 
her  and  told  her  what  Mrs.  Finnerty  said. 

"We  have  no  liking  for  each  other,  Mrs.  Beach," 
stammered  Babe,  "but  in  this  case  I  warn  you  to  save 
Miss  Wilder.  It  is  not  right  to  trouble  her  with  affairs 
like  yours  and  my  father's.  I  think  you  ought  to  send 
that  Jones  away,  for  if  my  father  ever- heard  him  talk 
ill  of  you  he  would  kill  him." 

"I'd  best  tell  Con  then," said  Mrs.  Beach,  carelessly. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Beach,  you  would  not  make  my  father  a 
murderer,"  cried  Babe,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears,"  you 

128 


BABE  PLEADS  WITH  HER  FATHER.  129 

could  not  be  so  wicked.  There  was  a  shooting  scrape 
over  cards  long  ago,  and,  though  I  was  a  little  child 
then,  I  can  remember  it  ever  so  plain,  and  how  that 
dead  man  used  to  haunt  me.  I  used  to  wonder  if  my 
father  slept  well  after  it.  I  heard  the  shots,  and  ran  in 
in  my  night-gown,  and  there  was  the  man  on  the  floor,  the 
blood  all  over  his  face,  and  my  father  standing  looking 
white  and  dazed,  the  smoking  pistol  in  his  hand.  Dick 
Daggett  caught  me  up,  and  took  me  screaming  away, 
and  the  next  day  the  children  pointed  to  the  coroner's 
and  said,  the  man  my  father  made  dead  was  in  there. 
Oh,  the  shame  and  sorrow  I  suffered — " 

"Don't  fret,  Babe,"  said  Mrs.  Beach,  not  unkindly, 
Sf  I  fancy  I  think  more  of  your  father  than  you  do,  and 
Jones  shall  be  sent  away.  By  the  way,  my  cousin  has 
gone." 

Babe  winced,  but  did  not  speak. 

"His  mother  would  never  have  let  him  marry  you. 
She  is  as  heartless  as  my  mother — as  unforgiving.  It 
is  terrible  to  come  of  a  race  of  ugly-tempered,  virtuous 
women.  Well,  well,  you  are  a  queer  girl,  I'd  have  run 
away  with  the  boy,  he  loved  you  with  all  his 
manly,  honest  heart,  I  can't  but  respect  you.  Good 
heavens,  there  comes  Beach."  She  gave  a  little  cry  and 
clutched  the  book  she  held  to  steady  her  trembling 
hands..  He  came  suddenly  out  of  the  bank  building, 
near  where  we  were  standing,  and,  looking  very  white 
and  angry,  strode  up  to  us. 

"Clara,"  he  said,  coldly,  "I  did  not  know  that  you 
were  acquainted  with  this  person," 


130  BABE  MURPHY. 

"  Only  a  little  while/'  she  stammered. 

"  You  know  well  enough,"  he  went  on,  with  increas- 
ing anger,  "  what  my  opinion  is  of  her  and  her  father. 
In  the  kindness  of  your  innocent  heart  you  have  taken 
pity  on  her,  and  wish,  perhaps,  to  make  her  better,  but, 
though  your  intentions  are  good,  only  failure  must  fol- 
low. You  are  not  acquainted  with  the  young  woman 
of  the  frontier.  Do  not  tell  me,  Clara,  that  this  person 
participated  in  the  little  jaunts  you  enjoyed  with  Mr. 
Thomas  and  Miss  Wilder?" 

"I  went  with  them,  Mr.  Beach," said  Babe,  curling 
that  short  lip  of  hers,  "  I  am  sorry  for  it,  I  ate  the  bread 
that  was  paid  for  with  the  money  you  robbed  my 
father  of.     I  wonder  it  did  not  choke  me." 

"  Clara  you  have  not  answered  me,"  he  said,  com- 
mandingly,  not  noticing  Babe's  speech  at  all. 

"Why  yes,  Henry,  sometimes." 

"  And  your  cousin  Thomas,  a  young,  unmarried  man 
too.  Clara,  when  will  you  ever  learn  worldly  wisdom. 
Tut,  tut,  this  has  made  me  quite  angry.  Here  is  the 
carriage,  luckily.  Miss  Wilder  I  bear  no  ill  will  to  you, 
but,  of  course,  if  you  persist  in  your  strange  friendships, 
I  must  bar  you  from  my  home.  1  have  noticed  with 
intense  regret  and  grief,  a  change  in  Clara,  a  want  of 
courtesy,  and  impatience  in  manner,  a  disregard  of  her 
feminine  tasks,  almost  an  unladylike  dislike  for  the 
conventionalties  of  life.  I  see  now  how  she  has  been 
contaminated  by  evil  influences.  Allow  me  to  wish  you 
good  afternoon."  He  helped  his  wife  into  the  carriage 
with  stately  dignity,  touched  his  shiny  hat  to  us  and 
creakc.l  stiffly  away. 


BABE  PLEADS  WITH  HER  FA  T1IEB.  131 

" And  that  is  King  Arthur/'  sneered  Babe,  "I  don't 
know  that  I  pity  any  of  them  if  they  are  like  him. 
They  may  go  their  way,  my  father  and  that  man's  wife, 
I'll  do  no  more." 

I  said  what  I  thought  of  Mrs.  Beach's  standing  by 
and  letting  Babe  be  blamed. 

"I  gave  her  a  look  to  be  still,"  said  my  dear  girl, 
"What  good  would  it  have  done  for  her  to  try  to  clear 
me?  he  would  never  have  heard  anything  but  that  I 
was  my  father's  daughter." 

For  the  next  two  weeks  we  saw  little  of  the  Beaches 
or  Murphy,  but  Mrs.  Einnerty  told  us  the  lovers  were 
often  seen  at  night,  and  that  Mrs.  Beach  rode  then  with 
Murphy,  as  reckless  and  mad  a  rider  as  he  was.  We 
got  a  letter  from  Ballinger  about  this  time,  written 
from  Denver.  It  was  quite  short,  but  I  remember  he 
said,  "I  did  not  mean  to  break  my  silence,  dear, 
(written  to  Babe  of  course)  but  I  must  tell  you  this. 
A  young  Englishman  I  met  here  told  me  he  had  just 
come  from  Erin,  been  up  to  look  at  Daggett's  mine, 
and  at  the  cottage,  Sunday  night,  he  met  and  played 
cards  with  a  handsome  black-eyed  woman,  and  described 
Clara  to  the  very  life;  said  she  was  the  jolliest  kind,  but 
was  stuck  on  the  big  Irishman.  I  did  not  hit  him, 
though  I  wanted  to,  for  what  was  the  use,  but  for 
Heaven's  sake,  write  me  if  that  was  Clara.  If  she  has 
lost  all  decency  I'll  come  up  there  and  drag  her  away, 
if  I  have  to  kill  Beach  to  do  it.  Can't  you  warn  him, 
dear?     Telegraph  me  if  I  can  do  any  good." 

"Her  room  is  in  another  part   of  the  house  from 


132  BABE  MURPHY. 

Beach's,"  I  said,  "and  she  told  me  once  how  easy  it 
was  to  slip  down  from  the  porch  roof,  said  she  had  often 
done  it,  and  walked  in  the  garden  when  she  could  not 
sleep.  Here  is  everybody  knowing  about  her,  but  her 
husband." 

"  And  no  one  to  tell  him,"  she  sighed. 

"Who'd  dare  to?"  I  quaked,  thinking  of  the  look 
he'd  give  one,  and,  as  I  spoke,  Con  Murphy  came  gal- 
loping along  the  road.  He  had  not  been  near  us  for 
quite  a  while,  nor  were  we  particularly  glad  to  see  him 
now.  He  looked  worn  and  ill,  Daggett  said  he  drank 
hard  and  got  no  sleep  at  all,  and  hinted  he  was,  in 
Western  vernacular,  'playing his  streak  out/ meaning,  I 
suppose,  he  was  wearing  out  body  and  mind.  I  noticed 
he  had  grown  much  thinner,  but  more  handsome,  if 
that  could  be,  and  his  eyes,  bright  and  beautiful,  had  a 
new  expression,  while  the  pallor  of  sleepless  nights  was 
becoming  to  him.  He  spoke  irritably  and  made  me 
think  his  nerves  were  strung  tight  and  his  soul  utterly 
weary  of  life. 

"Did  that  old  fool  insult  you,  Babe?"  he  asked,  as 
she  went  to  his  side. 

"  Who  told  you,  father?" 

"  Clara,  curse  him,  that's  one  more  against  him  when 
a  day  of  reckoning  comes." 

"Why  do  you  tell  that  to  every  one?"  she  said,  fear- 
lessly. "They  say  you  go  around  threatening  Beach  as 
you  did  once  years  ago  when  you  took  his  money  and 
let  him  rob  you  of  a  fortune.  They  laughed  at  your 
talk  then,  but  now  that  you  are  trying  to  rob  him  of 


BABE  rLEADS  WITH  II Ell  FATHER.  133 

his  wife,  they  begin  to  believe  you  will  have  to  kill  him 
or  he  you." 

"You  area  pleasant  daughter/'  he  sneered,  "per- 
haps people  talk  of  you  and  the  cub  that  jilted  you 
or—" 

"Please  not  from  your  lips,  father/' she  cried,  pit- 
eously,  "  don't  let  me  ever  hear  what  you  were  going  to 
say.     It  isn't  fair." 

"  Well  let  me  alone  then." 

"  Oh  for  your  good,  father,  let  me  speak,"  she  pleaded, 
going  close  to  him  and  clinging  to  his  arm.  "Go  away 
and  leave  Mrs.  Beach,  the  whole  town  knows  it  and  he 
must  find  out  soon!  He  is  an  old  man  not  your  match, 
it  wouldn't  be  a  fair  fight,  nor  has  it  been.  She  is  a 
wicked  woman,  and  what  will  become  of  you  both? 
Think  of  my  mother  who  died  so  long  ago,  you  loved 
her,  your  honest  wife,  don't  sully  her  memory,  don't  be 
weak  and  led;  a  man  should  be  strong  and  brave." 

ei  My  dear,"  he  said,  coolly,  a  half  laugh  in  his  eyes, 
"you  talk  very  prettily,  but  your  mother  was  a  wild, 
young  Irish  girl,  sweet  and  innocent,  but  a  child, 
died  a  child,  too,  that  was  only  a  boy's  love,  her  very 
memory  is  gone  from  me,  except  when  you  look  like  her 
once  in  a  while.  But  Clara  is  a  woman  a  man  could  die 
for,  she  never  wearies  one,  like  Cleopatra,  she  is  a 
woman  of  infinite  variety.  It  is  childish  and  good  to 
talk  of  quitting,  bah,  if  you  ever  love  you  will  reason 
differently.  I  owe  the  world  nothing,  it  has  downed 
me,  and  her  too,  and  until  the  breath  has  gone  from  me 
I  will  stay  by  her.     Here,  I've  got  a  letter  for  Wilder 


134  BABE  MURPHY. 

to  give  her,  haven't  seen  her  for  three  days,  maybe  some- 
thing is  up,  Wilder  can  go  to  her  house,  can't  she?" 

"  She  shall  not  take  the  letter,"  said  Babe,  firmly, 
' '  nor  any  message.  She  shall  not  be  mixed  up  in  your 
affairs,  because  she  has  been  my  only  friend.  Go,  do  as 
you  will,  but  let  us  alone,  neither  you  nor  Mrs.  Beach 
shall  ever  come  here  again,  if  I  have  to  go  and  tell 
Beach  of  you,  and  I  would  rather  die  than  do  that." 

"If  she  wants  to  keep  you  with  her,  curse  you,"  he 
cried,  white  with  passion,  "she  shall  be  on  my  side." 

"  She  shall  not,"  said  that  fearless  girl,  and  he,  in  a 
fit  of  fury,  struck  her  straight  in  the  face.  She  fell 
back,  and  without  looking  at  her,  he  galloped  away  like 
mad.  She  recovered  herself  and  ran  into  the  house, 
where  I  found  her  sopping  water  on  the  bruise. 

"  He  never  struck  me  before  in  my  life,"  she  panted, 
"  oh,  my  father,  my  father.  Say  will  the  mark  wear 
off,  Ann,  I  don't  want  it  there  to  make  me  remember, 
he  is  so  strong,  he  does  not  know  how  hard  he  struck 
me.     Oh,  never,  never  remember  what  you  saw." 

"I  won't,  dear,"  I  answered,  and  left  her  to  herself 
most  of  that  day,  for  she  likes  to  be  alone  in  her  grief. 
"  Like  a  dog,  when  I'm  hurt,  I  crawl  away  by  myself," 
she  said,  but  after  supper  acted  more  like  herself,  and 
we  went  for  a  walk  toward  Silver  City.  Coming  home, 
we  met  Beach  alone  driving  out,  he  was  going  to  pass 
us  with  his  chilly  bow,  but  Babe  suddenly  walked  up  to 
him.  "I  will  speak,"  she  said  to  me,  quickly,  "Mr. 
Beach,  I  believe  you  are  a  gentleman,  you  can  not  refuse 
to  listen  to  me  for  one  moment." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"  KING   ARTHUR  NEEDS   A   XODRED." 

If  she  had  not  stood  so  close  to  the  wheels,  I  verily 
believe  that  he  would  have  driven  on,  but  he  was 
forced  to  stop  or  run  over  her.  "  You  know  very  well," 
she  said,  nervously,  the  color  flooding  her  face,  her 
voice  trembling,  "  that  I  have  no  reason  to  like  you  or 
have  any  interest  in  your  welfare,  but  I  must  tell  you 
this.  You  don't  go  much  in  the  village,  you  are  so 
proud  and  cold  you  have  no  friends  to  warn  you,  and 
everyone  is  talking  of  her — " 

"Is  this  anything  of  importance,  Miss  Murphy?"  he 
said,  greatly  offended,  trying  to  chill  her  with  his  dig- 
nity. "I  have  an  important  engagement  down  the  road 
about  the  site  of  a  new  smelter.  Really,  my  time  is 
very  precious.  If  you  wish  to  complain  of  Mr.  Bal- 
linger,  I  believe  I  heard  he  had  been  showing  you  some 
attention,  I  must  decline  to  listen.  His  affairs  are  not 
mine — " 

"  I  wish  to  tell  you  about  your  wife,"  she  cried,  stung 
into  anger. 

"  How  dare  you  have  the  effrontery  to  mention  her?" 
he  said,  in  supreme  disgust.  "  You — my  wife."  It 
seemed  the  very  idea  choked  him  with  rage. 

"Her  name  is  on  every  tongue,  why  not  mine?"  went 
on  Babe,   determinedly,  "  though  Heaven  knows  why 

135 


136  BABE  MURPHY. 

I  tell  you  this  when  I  hate  you.  Ask  Miss  Wilder  if  I 
am  not  speaking  the  truth.  You  robbed  my  father, 
you  scorn  me,  you  have  insulted  me,  but  I  am  too 
fair  to  see  you  laughed  at  and  scorned  by  everybody. 
For  your  wife's  sake  take  her  away  from  here,  be  good 
to  her,  don't  freeze  her  soul  and  make  her  desperate. 
She  is  only  a  woman,  not  a  lay  figure.  If  shame  and 
sorrow  come  to  you  now,  you  shall  not  say  you  were  not 
warned.  Be  blind,  if  you  will,  say  anything  mean  you 
like  to  me,  I  don't  care,  I  have  freed  my  soul  from  the 
stain  of  cowardice." 

She  flung  the  reins  she  had  been  holding  to  detain 
him  back  into  the  carriage  and  walked  proudly  away. 
He  looked  old  and  worn,  putting  his  hand  to  his  head 
confusedly.  It  seemed  some  haunting  suspicion  of  his 
wife  that  he  had  put  aside  as  unworthy  and  dishonora- 
ble had  suddenly  come  to  light  and  confronted  him. 
.  "  Miss  Wilder,"  he  said,  with  a  curious  hesitancy  for 
him,  "is  there,  has  there  been  any  scandal  about  my 
wife,  as  this  young  person  says  ?  I  believe  Miss 
Murphy  to  be  a  good  woman,  I  will  admit  that  she 
is  spoken  highly  of,  but  perhaps  Thomas  has  been  attent- 
ive to  his  cousin,  they  were  always  like  brother  and 
sister,  and  she  is  jealous,  on  that  account  takes  this 
underhand  method  of  revenge.  Her  father  is  a  very 
revengeful  man." 

"Folks  are  not  talking  about  Mrs.  Beach  and  her 
cousin,"  I  said,  boldly,  "  but  another  man,  not  him  at 
all." 

He  looked  at  me  as  if  he  doubted  my  sanity,  then  he 


"KING  ARTHUR  XEEDS  A  MODRED."  187 

said,  with  awful  coldness,  frozen  into  a  fierce  anger, 
"  There  is  no  other  man.  From  this  moment,  madam, 
I  refuse  to  listen  to  any  idle  stories.  Do  not  insult  me 
with  village  gossip,  you  presume  on  my  kindness  to 
you.  It  is  outrageous.  Xo  one  is  above  talk,  the  high- 
est in  authority,  the  men  we  make  our  presidents.  It 
is  a  penance  for  being  good  and  great.  Guard  my  wife 
as  I  will,  the  envious  tongues  of  scandal-mongers  will 
wag.  Fie,  Miss  Wilder,  a  sister  woman,  and  you  allow 
yourself  to  repeat  such  talk.  I  do  begin  to  believe  that 
maiden  ladies  are  tale-bearing  and  malicious,  as  they 
are  said  to  be.  Tut,  tut,'''  and  raising  that  hat  of  his 
he  drove  on,  leaving  me  feeling  like  I  had  been  slapped 
in  the  face. 

'•'Go,  then,  you  poor,  blind  fool,"  I  said,  but  Babe 
took  my  arm  and  dragged  me  down  to  the  village.  "I 
can't  help  but  like  his  trust  in  her,  his  loyalty  to  her,'v 
she  said,  bravely;  '"there  is  no  credit  in  being  fair  to 
good  folks,  let's  save  him  in  spite  of  himself." 

'•How,  certainly  not  by  influencing  your  father?" 
"Xo.  Miss  Spiteful,  but  by  telegraphing  to  Toni." 
'•'And  the  operator  will  tell  all  over  town  you  sent  for 
your  beau,  and  folks  will  talk  nice  about  you." 

"I  begin  to  believe,  she  said,  solemnly,  "that 
maiden  ladies  are  tale- bearing  and  malicious.  There 
now,  darling,  I'll  write  a  cypher  that  will  puzzle  that 
operator  all  his  days."  She  got  a  blank  and  wrote  a  few 
moments  and  then  brought  it  to  me.  "King  Arthur 
needs  a  Modred.  Come.''  This  I  signed  with  my 
name,  knowing  well   he   would  guess  the  secret  and 


138  BABE  MURPHY. 

help  us  in  our  trouble.  But  alas!  I  know  now  he  never 
got  our  warning,  and  once  more  fate  intervened,  the 
shadow  of  the  avalanche  was  horribly  near,  but  never 
did  I  dream  of  its  awful  woe  and  misery.  Yet,  look- 
ing back,  I  think  my  dear  girl  and  I  did  all  we  could,  and 
who  can  blame  us,  if,  after  that  warning  to  Mr.  Beach, 
we  kept  within  our  doors  and  let  the  world  go  by. 

The  next  Sunday,  my  dear  girl  being  so  low-spirited, 
I  suggested  we  go  to  evening  service.  ' '  I  haven't  been 
what  you  may  call  a  religious  woman,  Babe,"  I  said, 
"  but  there  is  always  comfort  to  me  in  a  church.  I  don't 
think  I  ever  enter  into  the  spirit  of  it,  I  am  not  pious 
— I  want  to  reason  for  myself  too  much — but  I  like  to 
look  at  good  folks  and  listen  to  the  hymns,  and  just 
'  Eock  of  Ages '  is  better  to  me  than  a  sermon.  Oh, 
the  time  comes  to  all  of  us  when  we  want  something  to 
cling  to,  to  feel  in  a  great  heartless  world  there  is  some 
one  who  loves  us." 

She  got  her  hat  and  went  with  me,  and  during  the 
sermon  I  stole  my  hand  in  hers  and  held  it  there.  Oh, 
my  dear  girl,  with  your  wistful  eyes,  your  noble  face, 
must  you  break  your  heart,  must  your  young  life  be 
darkened?  I  thought  of  Elaine,  for  she  read  to  me 
often  now  the  poetry  she  and  her  young  lover  read,  and 
I  wondered  if  she,  too,  like  that  fair  maid  that  loved 
Lancelot,  would  die  of  love.  I  saw,  glancing  across 
the  church,  that  Beach  was  alone  in  his  pew;  that  he 
looked  sort  of  haggard  and  worn,  his  hair  much  whiter. 
He  kept  trying  to  keep  his  eyes  on  the  preacher,  but 
they  would  wander  off,  and  people  looked  at  him  with 


"KING  ARTHUR  NEEDS  A  MODRED."  139 

pitying  glances.  Oh,  yon  lonely  man,  I  thought;  you 
lone,  lone  creature.  Shut  in,  in  your  wall  of  ice,  in 
your  pride.  You  are  a  very  target  for  fate.  Yet  you 
think  yourself  invulnerable!  Dombey  felt  the  hand  of 
God  in  the  death  of  Little  Paul,  dynasties  change  by 
the  thrust  of  a  lance,  the  speed  of  a  bullet — who  is 
secure  in  life  ?  Whose  house  is  not  built  on  shifting 
sand?" 

"  Church  is  over,  dear,"  whispered  Babe,  and  there 
I  had  not  stood  up  during  the  benediction,  and  folks 
must  have  thought  I  was  a  heathen.  She  left  me  a 
moment  outside  to  go  speak  with  Mrs.  Hartman,  and 
I  started  along  home  by  myself.  "  Oh,  Miss  Babe,"  I 
heard  Mrs.  Hartman  say,  "go  to  your  father,  dear, 
and  beg  him  on  your  knees  to  go  away.  Their  goings- 
on  is  awful,  Eli  says,  and  Dick  Daggett  tells  me  he's 
afraid  of  his  life  to  speak  to  Con." 

Discouraged  and  sad,  I  went  ahead  past  the  lights  of 
homes  and  families;  there  might  be  quarreling  and  jar- 
ring behind  those  shut  doors,  but,  on  the  whole,  the 
life  was  happy  and  good,  as  near  as  we  can  have  it.  The 
future  of  vice  seldom  has  love  and  care,  no  shelter  nor 
protection.  It  dies  unlamented,  unmourned;  it  is  fol- 
lowed by  no  tears  from  innocent  eyes,  no  praise  from 
good  souls;  it  leaves  no  benediction  of  noble  days  and 
helpfulness  to  those  that  look  to  it  for  a  solving  of  the 
weary  problem  of  human  affairs.  "  If  I  was  one  of 
those  beautiful  and  naughty  women,  I'd  die  when  I  was 
young  and  had  my  looks,"  I  said  to  myself,  "if  I  had 
to  take  the  morphine  route,  as  they  say  here." 


140  BABE  MURPHY. 

"Miss  Wilder,"  said  a  metallic  voice  close  behind  me, 
and,  like  all  folks  thinking  sinful  thoughts,  and  on 
Sunday  evening,  too,  I  started  guiltily.  It  was  Mr. 
Beach.  He  lifted  his  hat  in  a  shame-faced  sort  of  way 
and  said,  slowly: 

"  I  believe  I  owe  you  an  apology.  I  was  hasty  that 
day  you  stopped  me  on  the  road;  you  probably  meant 
kindly.  I  now  ask  you  to  come  and  see  Clara.  I  real- 
ize she  has  no  friends,  no  women  friends.  Perhaps  I 
do  not  understand  her  as  you  could.  She  keeps  her 
room,  will  not  see  me,  looks  and  acts  unlike  herself. 
Perhaps  she  did  care  for  her  cousin,  and  I  have  ruined 
her  young  life.  I  was  too  old,  near  twice  her  age,  to 
understand  her.  "We  can  not  reason  with  those  things, 
strive  as  we  may,  Miss  Wilder,  yet  she  should  have  told 
me  if  she  cared  for  Thomas.  I  could  have  been  her 
good  friend,  if  not  her  husband." 

"I  think  that,"  I  said,  "and  I  wish  you  had  been 
content  with  being  only  her  friend,  but  not  only  you 
became  her  husband,  but  you  ceased  to  be  her  friend." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  mean?"  he  said,  pathetically. 

"  Only  that  you  stifled  all  her  hopes,  her  wants,  you 
shut  her  up  here  and  denied  her  pleasures.  You  have 
been  to  blame,  Mr.  Beach,  whatever  happens,  try  and 
think  some  of  the  fault  is  yours." 

"Nature  means  youth  should  only  wed  youth,"  he 
said,  sadly,  "and  my  young  days  were  spent  in  money 
getting  and  the  habit  clung  to  me,  but  she  never  com- 
plained, she  seemed  contented." 

I  felt  a  choke   in  my  throat,  oh,  you  kind,  loveless 


"KLNQ  ARHUR  NEEDS  A  MODRED."  141 

man.  I  thought,  what  can  I  say  to  you,  how  make  3011 
see  even  when  it  is  so  late,  tilings  you  might  try 
to  do.  '"  Why  not  take  her  to  Europe,  Mr.  Beach,  she 
would  like  that.  This  is  a  dull  place  for  a  beautiful 
and  bright  woman  like  her." 

"  Because,"  he  said,  with  almost  agonized  impatience, 
"  she  will  not  go.  She  refuses  me,  she  who  never  had 
an  idea  opposed  to  mine.  I  fancy  she  is  not  well,  her 
looks  are  different,  her  laugh  unnatural,  her  eyes 
strangely  bright.  I  asked  the  doctor — he  acts  odd,  very 
odd,  said  for  Heaven's  sake  take  her  awray,  that  I  would 
regret  it  all  my  life  if  I  did  not.  I  will  not  believe  any- 
thing but  that  he  meant  her  health,  not  her  honor 
required  it.  Miss  Wilder,  my  wife's  name  is  above 
reproach.'' 

He  was  loyal  and  true  to  her,  his  face  kindling,  his 
manner  growing  more  decided  when  he  spoke  of  her. 
I  could  not  speak,  I  hung  my  head  and  listened,  feeling 
so  mean  and  wicked  as  if  I,  not  his  wife,  were  deceiving 
him. 

11  She  always  liked  yon,"  he  went  on,  eagerly,  "your 
frankness  and  odd  ways  pleased  her,  I  may  have  con- 
demned your  kindness  to  Mr.  Murphy's  daughter,  but  I 
respect  you  for  it." 

"Someday  you  will  know,  Mr.  Beach,"  I  said,  firmly, 
and  I  little  knew  how  soon,  "how  true  and  noble  a  woman 
that  poor  girl  is.  I  can  tell  you  she  would  not  marry  that 
Cousin  of  your  wife's,  though  he  was  mad  for  her.  She 
would  not  come  between  mother  and  son,  and  she  sent 
him  away  though  her  heart  is  breaking.     She   is   a 


142  BABE  MURPHY. 

woman  who  could  not  lie,  and  who  to  help  you,  to  warn 
you,  her  father's  enemy,  stifled  her  pride,  her  maiden 
shyness,  and  told  you  of  your  danger.  Think  well  of 
her,  for  she  has  tried  to  help  you  more  than  you  will 
ever  know." 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  he  answered,  "  I  trust  I 
may  if  she  did  try  to  do  me  some  imagined  good.  She 
owes  me  none.  They  speak  highly  of  her  at  the  village, 
especially  that  very  decent  man,  Hartman.  Pray  come 
and  see  us,  will  you  not.  I  ask  your  aid,  you  will  not 
refuse  me." 

His  pride  was  humbled,  his  very  voice  meek  and  dis- 
pirited, his  manner  imploring.  His  heart  ached,  poor 
man,  and  I  did  promise  to  come  and  meant  it.  I  never 
liked  him  so  well  as  that  moment,  he  was  nearer  human. 
I  put  my  cotton  glove  in  his  big,  brown  kid  one  and 
said,  "I'll  try  to  cheer  her  up  and  talk  her  into  going  away 
for  a  little  trip,"  and  then  I  heard  people  talking. 
Merciful  Heaven!  there  was  that  mocking  laughter,  that 
now  thrilled  every  nerve  in  me  and  seemed  to  choke  my 
very  utterance.  Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  sound  and 
then  a  rarely  sweet  voice  said: 

"  That  was  the  closest  shave  yet,  Con." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MR.    BEACH   SORELY    SMITTEN". 

"  I  must  go  back  for  Babe/'  I  said,  mad  with,  terror 
Jest  he  should  recognize  the  voice  and  laugh.  "I'm 
not  going  this  way  any  further."  I  whirled  around,  but 
Mr.  Beach  laid  a  restraining  hand  on  my  arm. 

"If  this  haste  is  on  my  account,  Miss  Wilder,  it  is 
quite  useless.  I  recognize  Mr.  Murphy's  voice,  he  has 
a  lady  with  him,  so  there  is  no  fear  of  violence.  Be- 
sides, he  and  others  of  his  ilk  have  threatened  me  for 
years.  I  am  not  afraid  of  braggarts,  in  fact,  I  never 
go  armed." 

"  Please,  go  back,"  I  cried,  wildly,  "I  tell  you,  you 
must,"  I  spoke  up  loud  to  warn  them. 

"Why,  Wilder's  got  a  beau,"  said  that  mocking  voice; 
"the  sly,  little  thing,  and  we've  stumbled  on  a  trysting 
place,  Con.  Colorado  is  a  wonderful  country  for 
school  ma'ams." 

I  think  her  ladyship  had  been  taking  too  much  cham- 
dagne,  but,  land!  what  did  I  care  what  she  said,  poor 
soul!  if  I  could  have  warned  her,  but  my  arm  was 
gripped  with  a  grasp  of  iron,  and  Beach  stepped  into 
the  bushes  out  of  sight,  yet  holding  me  all  the  time. 

"We  won't  peek  at  him,  Wilder,"  she  said,  as  she 
passed  close  in  the  trail,  her  skirts  brushing  mine  so 
near  Beach  could  have  touched  her  where   he   stood, 

143 


144  BABE  MURPHY. 

"only  don't  tell  tales  on  us."  As  they  went  on,  she  was 
smoking,  and  mischievously  puffed  up  the  light  on  her 
cigarette,  and  for  a  fleeting  instant  her  face  showed 
bright  and  clear  against  Con's  shoulder,  for  his  arm 
was  around  her. 

"If  you  are  going  to  shoot,  Mr.  Beach/' I  quaked, 
"for  Heaven's  sake!  let  me  run.  I  hate  the  noise,  I'm 
scared  of  fire  arms,  always  was,  I  will  tell  on  you  in 
the  courts,  I  will — " 

"  Peace!  fool,"  he  says  in  an  awful  voice.  "  How  long 
has  this  been  going  on?  Tell  me  the  truth."  He  held 
me,  glaring  into  my  face. 

"  Folks  says  years  and  years,  oh,  let  me  go,  sir,  you 
are  pinching  me  black  and  blue." 

"  Was  that  what  the  girl  meant?  Did  she  know  it?  " 
His  voice  husky  now. 

"Yes,  it  was,"  he  fairly  shook  the  words  out  of  me; 
"everybody  in  town  knew  it  but  you.  She  has  been 
breaking  her  heart  about  it,  Babe  can  hate  honest,  but 
that  kind  of  a  revenge  sickened  her. " 

"Revenge,"  he  muttered  in  a  horrible  tone,  "Oh,my 
God!"  He  staggered  back  against  the  tree,  and  his 
silk  hat  fell  off,  and  rolled  in  the  mud,  but  I  did  not 
dare  pick  it  up.  He  began  tearing  off  his  gloves  with 
feverish  haste,  and  some  senseless  memory  came  to 
me  then  of  how  carefully  he  usually  did  this,  working 
off  the  fingers  one  by  one,  and  smoothing  them  out. 
He  pushed  away  his  thin  gray  hair  off  his  forehead,  and 
began  picking  at  his  throat.  A  moment  later  he  had 
flung  his  collar  off,  and  his  neat  white  tie  that  he  al- 


MR.  BEACH  SORELY  SMITTEN.  145 

ways  wore  Sundays,  and  breathing  hard  and  fast,  stood 
there,  clutching  his  throat.  Then,  watching  him  with 
scared  eyes,  I  saw  he  was  trying  to  speak,  and  could  not. 
Oh,  that  awful,  voiceless  agony,  that  tide  of  passion  that 
found  no  channel. 

"Only  speak,"  I  pleaded.  "  Mr.  Beach,  do  not  look 
like  that,  curse  her,  if  you  will,  or  him,  but,  for  Heav- 
en's sake,  speak."  Mercifully  then  I  heard  my  dear  girl's 
voice,  calling  me,  and  she  came  running  along  the  path. 
"What  has  happened ?"  she  asked,  seeing  us.  "Is  it 
the  worst?" 

"  We  met  them,"  I  sobbed,  trembling  now  in  every 
limb. 

She  saw  the  condition  of  that  stricken  man,  and 
bravely  went  up  to  him.  She  took  that  hand  of  his, 
that  he  was  clutching  his  throat  with,  and  held  it  in 
hers.  "Mr.  Beach,  you  must  think,"  she  said,  gently. 
"Let  me  share  your  suffering,  he  is  my  father,  and  I 
must  hate  him.  I  won't  say  be  calm,  but  try  to  steady 
yourself.  It  is  a  blow;  you  cared  for  her.  Lean  on 
me,  you  are  so  weak;  you  stagger,  the  road  is  very 
rough,  too.  Now  collect  yourself,  and  let  me  lead  you 
to  Doctor  Hcoper's;  it  is  not  far." 

"Er, — thank  you,  Miss,  quite  ill,  yes,  collect  myself," 
he  mumbled.  "  You  are  his  daughter,  my  enemy's,  very 
kind." 

"  I  pity  you,"  softly.  "Ah,  I  do  pity  you,  let  me  help 
you." 

He  would  have  disdained  that  strong  young  arm,  but 
he  was  actually  too  weak  to  walk  alone.     He  clutched 


146  BABE  MURPHY. 

at  the  air,  put  his  trembling  hands  to  his  head  and 
then  reached  out  to  her.  "  I  am  almost  blind.  I  can't 
think,  oh,  to  my  lawyer's,  take  me  there.  I  had  left 
her  everything,  come,  I  tell  you  to  Martin's,  you  know 
the  house." 

She  signed  to  me  to  go  ahead  and  tell  him,  and  I  hur- 
ried along  and  luckily  the  man  was  at  home.  When  I 
told  him,  he  went  to  the  parlor,  told  his  women 
folks  to  keep  away  and  leave  a  light  in  the  dining-room, 
and  seized  his  hat. 

"Go  for  Hooper,"  he  called  as  he  ran  down  the  road, 
and,  never  thinking  I  was  tired  and  I  had  walked  a 
good  bit,  I  turned  to  go,  and  found  the  Doctor,  walking 
not  far  from  Martin's  house,  coming  home  from  a  call 
on  a  patient.  He  was  a  short,  chunky  man,  with  a  bris- 
tling, gray  beard  and  rosy  cheeks,  real  New  England  blue 
eyes  and  a  pleasant,  honest  way  with  him,  and  of  think- 
ing a  body  knows  something  and  agreeing  with  one.  I 
told  him  what  had  happened,  and  he  went  with  me  mut- 
tering, "1  knew  it,  damn  the  women  and  beg  your 
pardon,  Miss  Wilder,  but  some  of  them  are  the  devil." 

We  did  not  knock  at  Martin's,  but  went  direct  to  the 
dining-room,  where  a  lamp  had  been  lighted.  I  was  so 
beat  out  I  had  to  sit  down,  and  the  Doctor,  seeing  how 
white  I  was,  got  me  a  glass  of  brandy  out  of  the  cup- 
board. There  are  some  rooms  we  have  seen  in  strange 
days  of  our  lives  that  are  printed  on  the  memory,  and 
that  dining-room  was  one.  It  was  low-ceilinged,  the 
walls  covered,  with  gaudy  paper,  little  red  balls  fes- 
tooned together  with  gilt  chains.  .  The  hanging  lamp 


MR.  BEACH  SORELY  SMITTEN.  147 

had  smoked  the  ceiling  over  it,  and  I  noticed  that. 
There  were  four  hard,  wooden  chairs,  a  table  covered 
with  a  cheap,  red  cloth,  I  never  liked  them  since,  there 
were  two  chromos  on  the  walls,  cows,  I  believe,  morning 
and  night,  or  something,  but  pleasant  to  look  at.  I  had 
heard  Martin  was  close,  and  that  room  showed  it.  By 
one  of  the  windows,  hung  with  a  paper  curtain,  was  a 
stand  of  plants  and  over  it  hung  a  cage  with  a  sleeping 
canary.  A  cat  came  creeping  from  under  the  stove, 
smelled  of  me  and  went  yawning  back.  I  thought  to 
myself,  there  are  times  when  one  might  like  to  be  an 
animal.     Then  the  gate  clicked. 

Was  that  wild-eyed  man  Beach  ?  I  stared  in  horror. 
His  shirt  was  unbuttoned  at  the  throat,  his  hair  all 
awry,  he'd  been  bleeding  from  the  mouth  and  it  had 
streaked  down  his  pallid  face  and  on  his  white  shirt, 
his  hands  too,  were  covered  with  it.  His  coat  was  dusty 
and  disordered,  he  stooped  in  his  walk,  staggering  like 
a  drunken  man.  His  dreadful  eyes,  were  glassy  and 
staring  and  his  nervous  hands  would  not  be  still. 
He  looked  like  a  murdered  man  come  back  for  ven- 
geance, and  if  ever  I  dream  of  a  ghost  it  is  his,  as  I  saw 
him  that  night.  He  kept  hold  of  Babe's  arm  and 
reached  out  for  the  glass  of  brandy  the  Doctor  had 
filled.  Though  he  was  a  temperate  man  he  drank  that 
liquor  with  a  fierce  gulp  and  a  second  glass  too. 

"  Give  me  some  water,  you/'  he  said  to  Babe,  in  a 
thick,  strange  voice,  "  fancy  of  mine,  from  your  hand 
a  cup  of  water,  enemy.  Some  saying  I  have  heard, 
can't  place  it."     She  handed  it  to  him  with  trembling 


148  BABE  MURPHY. 

hand,  he  drank,  looking  at  her  in  that  queer  way,  then 
he  staggered  to  a  chair  and  fell  into  it,  burying  his 
head  on  his  outstretched  arms.  We  looked  at  each 
other  and  at  him  and  all  our  eyes  were  dim  and  our 
hearts  ached.     Oh,  that  mute,  silent  agony. 

Babe  started  to  go,  but  he  heard  her  step  and  raised 
his  ghastly  face.  "She  is  a  good  girl,  Hooper?"  he 
asked,  querulously.  Both  men  answered  for  her  with 
warm  praise. 

"I  may  have  wronged  her,  hurt  her  life — business 
men  are  unscrupulous.  A  good  girl,  and  would  not  lie. 
Will  you  say,  Miss,  you  will  try  and  bear  me  no  ill  will?" 

" I  am  over  that,  sir,"  she  said  with  quivering  lips, 
are  we  not  together  in  our  sorrow?  My  heart  feels 
only  tenderest  pity  for  you." 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  said,  humbly,  then,  turning  to  the 
lawyer,  he  went  on  with  strange  force,  "'Am  I  not  in 
my  right  mind,  Martin,  will  you  and  Hooper  swear  to 
that?" 

"No  man  is  more  sensible,"  said  the  doctor,  "  you 
are  a  bit  upset  by  the  shock,  that  is  all,  you  will  come 
out  all  right.     A  woman  is  not  all  there  is  in  life." 

"Miss  Wilder,  I  am  sorry  to  have  brought  you  here, 
made  you  a  sharer  in  my  misfortunes,  I  thank  you  for 
all  your  kindness.  Life  is  so  short  I  may  not  see  you 
again,  and  I  want  you  to  remember  I  appreciated  your 
efforts  to  help  a  blind,  and  worse  than  senseless  man. 
Good-bye." 

His  hand  that  he  held  to  me  was  as  cold  as  ice.  "  God 
pity  you  and  help  you,"  I  stammered,  and  then  we  went 


MR.  BE  A  CH  SOREL  7  SMITTEN.  149 

away,  Babe  and  I,  and  he,  with  his  invariable  courtesy, 
stood  until  we  had  gone,  but  I  looked  back  and  saw  him 
again  leaning  on  the  table,  his  face  covered,  and  the 
two  men  looking  on  in  voiceless  sympathy. 

As  we  passed  through  the  village  street,  we  saw  Jones 
sitting  by  a  saloon  door,  and  we  went  across  to  speak  to 
him. 

"  Where  is  my  father?  "  said  Babe,  blushing  painfully. 

"Kode  by  on  his  horse  five  minutes  ago,"  said  Jones, 
and  he'd  been  drinking  too,  pretty  freely. 

"He  has  left  her  then,"  muttered  Babe.  "Jones,  if 
you  have  any  reason  to  be  grateful  to  Mrs.  Beach,  you 
must  help  her  now.  Her  husband  saw  her  with — with 
my  father. " 

"De  old  man  know!"  cried  the  negro,  jumping  to 
his  feet,  sobering  instantly. 

"  The  worst,  run  to  her  and  warn  her,  Beach  is  not 
in  his  right  mind,  tell  her  to  go  any  where  but  to  meet 
him,  to  hide  herself.  I  pity  the  husband  more  than 
her,  and  I  don't  want  him,  in  his  agony,  to  do  some- 
thing terrible  that  will  haunt  him  forever.  As  for  my 
father/'  with  a  sudden  tightening  of  her  lips,  "it  may 
be  a  sin — unfilial — wicked  in  me,  lay  it  to  my  bringing 
up,  to  frontier  justice,  but  he  shall  have  no  warning 
from  me.     He  shall  abide  the  consequences  of  his  sin." 

I  was  too  confused  to  wonder  at  her  white  rigid  face 
and  that  stern  morality  of  hers,  I  only  motioned  to  the 
darky  to  run,  and  he  did,  as  if  his  life  were  at  stake. 
As  usual,  fate  was  against  us,  for,  before  we  could  get 
away,  I  heard  some  one  come  out  of  the  saloon,  and 


150  BABE  MURPHY. 

noticed  in  the  trees  the  bay  horse  tied,  and  saw  Con 
Murphy  going  up  to  him.  Why  Jones  lied  I  never 
knew,  out  of  sheer  mischief,  I  suppose. 

"  Whatever  you  think,  you  wicked  girl,"  I  said,  ' '  I 
shall  tell  that  man  his  wickedness  is  found  out/'  and 
I  turned  around  and  went  up  to  Con  Murphy. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  TRAGEDY. 

"  Wait,"  I  said,  as  he  started  to  mount  his  horse,  "  I 
have  something  to  say  to  you."  He  put  his  arm  through 
the  bridle  and  came  to  where  we  were  standing. 

"  You  and  Babe  here,"  he  said,  as  she  turned  her 
face  away,  proud  and  cold,  "  what  has  happened?" 

"Mr.  Beach  was  with  me  when  you  passed  to-night. 
Jones  has  gone  to  warn  Mrs.  Beach,  and  I  tell  you  for 
your  own  good  to  get  out  of  Erin  as  quick  as  you  can." 

He  drew  a  deep  breath.  "Whew,  that  is  rough  on 
the  old  man,"  he  laughed,  bitterly,  "saw  us  did  he?  I 
saw  him  once  sign  me  a  check  for  ten  thousand  and  rob 
me  of  a  million.     Quits  by — ,  and  here  he  is." 

That  poor  man  was  coming  along  the  sidewalk  with 
Doctor  Hooper,  we  had  been  quite  a  while  on  our  way, 
and  he  evidently  had  made  quick  work  of  what  he 
wanted  to  tell  his  lawyer.  He  was  still  hatless  and 
staggered,  walking  feebly  leaning  on  the  Doctor's  arm. 

"Don't  you  dare  speak  to  him,  father,"  said  Babe, 
pushing  herself  in  front  of  her  father,  "don't  be  a  cow- 
ard. He  is  not  armed,  he  is  old  and  feeble,  can  you 
not  be  satisfied  with  your  revenge?" 

"  Confound  you,"  he  muttered,  fiercely,  "  Fm  no 
assassin — you,  do  you  think  me  capable  of  that.  It's  his 
business  to  shoot,  not  mine."     He  stepped  out  to  meet 

151 


152  BABE  MURPHY. 

Boach  as  coolly  as  if  he  were  a  friend.  "  Here  Beach," 
he  said,  recklessly,  "  do  you  want  me?  They  said  you 
knew  all;  I'm  glad  of  it,  had  to  come  some  time." 

"  Mr.  Murphy,"  said  the  doctor,  coldly,  "if you  have 
any  decency  at  all,  you  will  not  torture  this  stricken 
man. 

"I  won't  hurt  him,"  said  Con,  carelessly,  f'I  only 
robbed  him  as  he  robbed  me.  Here,  Babe,  take  my 
revolver  and  give  it  to  him,  or  keep  it,  if  you  are  afraid 
of  shooting.  I'm  not.  I  am  ready  to  settle  with  him 
any  time;  this  earth  is  not  big  enough  for  both  of  us." 

"I  want  nothing  to  do  with  you," gasped  Beach,  the 
great  beads  of  perspiration  standing  on  his  forehead, 
"nothing  to  do  with  you."     His  trembling  hand  went, 
to  his  throat  then  and  picked  nervously.     "  Doctor, 
help  me  home." 

"If  you  go  home,  so  will  I,"  said  Con,  fiercely;  "you 
shall  not  frighten  Clara,  while  I  am  alive  to  protect 
her." 

"  Has  there  ever  been  anything  in  my  life-long  cour- 
tesy to  women,"  said  Beach,  witli  white  lips,  "  to  war- 
rant your  insinuation  that  I  might  abuse  my  wife? 
Kindly  let  me  pass,  Sir." 

"Are  you  not  satisfied,"  cried  Babe,  clinging  to  her 
father's  arm,  "is  it  manly  to  torture  that  stricken  old 
man?" 

"He  made  you  a  pauper  and  the  jest  of  a  mining 
camp,  don't  forget  that,"  sneered  Con,  flinging  her 
aside  and  jumping  on  his  horse.  As  we  might  be 
needed,  I  persuaded  Babe  to  follow  the  doctor  and  Mr. 


A  TRAGEDY.  153 

Beach.  His  house  looked  quite  deserted,  but,  on  hear- 
ing our  steps,  alight  flashed  in  the  hall,  and  Mary  Eric- 
son,  the  cook,  came  out  on  the  porch. 

She  seemed  to  know  the  trouble,  for  she  said,  nerv- 
ously, "Shall  I  put  the  lamp  in  his  room?  there  is  no 
one  here." 

The  doctor  nodded,  "Come,  Beach,  straighten  up 
and  collect  yourself,  there  is  nothing  to  dread,  your 
wife  has  gone." 

"Gone,"  he  muttered  in  that  queer,  dazed  way,  "gone, 
I  thank  God  for  that." 

I  watched  them  go  up  the  steps  to  the  verandah,  where 
she  used  to  sit  with  her  pretty  work,  and  he  watching 
her  with  that  light  in  his  face.  Alas,  how  old  and  feeble 
he  was  now,  his  pride  forever  lowered,  -the  edifice  of  a 
successful,  prosperous  life  shattered  by  the  hand  of  her 
he  loved  most  on  earth.  We  sat  outside,  and  waited 
for  the  doctor  to  come,  thinking  we  might  be  needed. 
It  was  very  cold,  and  I  remember  yet  the  chill  wind 
blowing  from  the  mountains,  where  the  new  snow  of 
the  year  lay  on  the  purple  shadows  like  the  ermine  on 
the  mantle  of  a  king.  Above  us  sparkled  myriads  of 
stars,  wonderfully  bright  in  the  clear  atmosphere.  I 
always  think  of  the  moonlight  in  Colorado  when  I  go 
East,  and  I  seem  to  see  a  blur  over  things  there;  for 
it  may  be  some  recompense  for  living  near  the  clouds  that 
we  see  things  in  a  purer  air.  Around  us  the  trees 
rustled  and  whispered,  and  seemed  alive.  Often  when 
I  have  been  alone  in  the  woods  I  have  felt  the  livingness 
of  the  trees,  in  ghostly  stirring  and  rustling,  until  I  could 


154  BABE  MUBPHY. 

most  believe  souls  were  shut  up  in  them.  I  looked  at  that 
pretty  home  he  had  built  for  her,  where  the  light  in  the 
parlor  glimmered  on  the  pictures  and  costly  furniture, 
and  all  the  things  to  make  life  beautiful,  and  somehow 
I  thought  of  the  starving  women  in  city  streets,  and 
what  a  paradise  that  home  would  be  to  them.  There 
seemed  little  right  in  this  hard  world. 

That  was  a  home,  I  thought,  and  I  can  not  think  it 
will  ever  be  so  again.  I  wondered  if  a  child  would  have 
softened  Clara's  wayward  heart.  Think  what  you  will 
of  me,  I  never  can  say  she  was  utterly  bad,  she  was  only 
weak-willed  and  weary,  sort  of  desperate.  Would  cling- 
ing baby  fingers  have  given  a  tender  pity  to  her  face,  a 
better  feeling  to  the  man  who  meant  to  make  her  life 
happy,  but  made  her  miserable?  Would  the  pure  soul 
of  an  innocent  child  have  made  her  strive  to  be  worthy 
of  it?  But  better,  a  thousand  times,  there  was  no  child 
if  she  would  still  have  loved  as  she  did. 

At  last  the  doctor  came  and  thanked  us  for  waiting. 
"  He  is  quite  calm  now  and  needs  nothing,  the  girl  has 
promised  to  look  after  him,  the  second  girl  went  to  the 
village  to  stop  the  night  with  her  family,  but  Mary 
thinks  the  coachman  will  be  back.  Mrs.  Beach  has 
gone  for  good,  I  am  sure,  for  her  room  is  in  disorder, 
her  clothing  scattered  about  as  if  she  had  been  packing 
what  she  needed.  That  poor  husband,  my  heart  bleeds 
for  him.  lie  never  made  many  friends,  but  his  worst 
enemy  would  pity  him,  as  he  sits  there,  his  eyes  vacant, 
his  unquiet  hands  twisting  nervously,  thinking,  oh  God, 
what  horrible  thoughts."     When  we  left  him  at    our 


A  TRAGEDY.  155 

road,  he  shook  hands  with  my  dear  girl.  "We  here 
love  you  and  respect  you,"  he  said,  kindly;  "what  your 
father  does  will  never  be  visited  on  you." 

I  got  up  at  sunrise  the  next  morning,  for  I  could  not 
sleep.  Babe  had  fallen  into  an  uneasy  slumber,  and  I 
was  glad  of  that,  for  she  looked  terribly  ill.  It  was  a 
cold,  gray  morning,  the  mists  on  the  mountains  linger- 
ing long,  the  road  frosty  and  white,  all  the  trees  were 
bare  and  leafless,  and  the  brooks,  filled  to  the  brim, 
seemed  to  try  to  make  up  for  the  loss  of  summer  life  in 
their  merry  ripple.  Mornings  in  this  mountain  country 
are  not  much  like  those  at  Southport.  I  miss  the  sight 
of  the  water  sparkling  in  the  sun,  the  rattle  of  cordage, 
the  clank  of  oars,  the  voices  of  the  fishermen;  here 
there  is  a  dense  stillness  below  those  gloomy  heights, 
where  light  and  joy  seem,  above  timber-line,  near  eternal 
snow.  I  looked  at  the  great  wall  twixt  heaven  and 
earth,  with  that  shut-in  sort  of  feeling  I  always  have. 
"When  1  have  got  on  the  other  side  of  you  I  shall 
breathe  again," I  muttered.  As  I  turned  to  go  home,  I 
saw  in  the  road  at  my  feet,  a  mousquetaire  glove,  tan- 
colored  and  scented  with  violet.  It  was  Clara's,  like 
all  her  dainty  belongings,  costly  and  fine.  I  held  it  in 
my  hand  and  saw  that  it  had  been  torn  off  hastily,  all 
the  buttons  ripped  and  on  the  palm  was  a  stain  that 
looked  like  blood,  there  was  a  black  mark  on  it  too, 
not  caused  by  the  bridle  reins  I  thought.  Wondering 
wrhat  it  meant,  I  hurried  home,  where  my  dear  girl  had 
a  breakfast  waiting  that  neither  of  us  ate.  When  she 
was  clearing  up  the  dishes,  I  took  the  dog's  meal  out  to 


156  BABE  MURPHY. 

him  in  front  of  the  house,  and  as  I  watched  the  animal 
eat,  very  dainty  he  was  too,  no  scraps  for  him,  I  saw 
Mr.  Beach's  carriage  coming.  I  thought  most  likely  he 
was  going  to  Silver  City,  possibly  to  make  preparations 
for  a  divorce,  but  lo,  and  behold,  the  only  occupant  of 
the  carriage  was  Mr.  Martin,  and  he  drove  straight  up  to 
my  door.  He  looked  pale  and  anxious,  and  before  I 
could  speak  he  said,,  quickly: 

"Can  you  go  with  me?  We  need  some  woman  at 
the  house,  some  one  with  sense,  Mr.  Beach  is  dead." 

"  Did  Con  Murphy  kill  him?"  I  cried  right  out,  and 
could  have  bitten  my  tongue  for  it. 

"  Don't  talk,  please;  any  word  of  yours  will  be  used 
against  him.  It  may  be  suicide,  but  it  looks  like 
murder." 

"  Murder!  "  repeated  my  dear  girl.  "Oh,  Mr.  Martin, 
Mr.  Beach  is  not  dead?" 

"  Last  night,"  the  lawyer  answered,  shortly.  "  Will 
you  come,  Miss  Wilder?" 

"  But  my  father  and  her,"  gasped  Babe. 

"They  went  away  last  night,  also,  but  if  there  is  any 
law  in  Colorado,  they  shall  be  brought  back." 

I  had  no  reason  for  not  going,  so  Babe  got  me 
my  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  I  drove  away  in  that  car- 
riage that  had  brought  me  to  Erin  nearly  five  months 
ago.  Where  was  my  driver  of  that  day,  and  how  had 
he  gone  on  his  long  journey?  All  of  us  are  afraid  of 
suicide,  that  sense  of  going  before  our  time  where  we 
are  not  wanted,  the  feeling  of  imperiling  an  infinite 
future  by  an  act  of  our  own.     Nor  was  Beach  the  kind 


A  TRAGEDY.  157 

of  a  man  to  give  up  beat  and  let  the  world  say  he  was  a 
coward. 

"I  never  will  believe  he  committed  suicide,"  said 
Martin,  "though  Hooper  thinks  so.  That  fool  Swede 
ran  away  from  the  house  after  the  doctor  left;  was. 
afraid  to  stay  there;  came  back  by  daylight  this  morn- 
ing with  the  second  girl,  made  the  fires,  worked  around 
awhile,  and  then  went  up  to  see  how  her  master  was 
She'd  promised,  mind  you,  to  give  him  medicine  if  he 
woke  up  in  the  night;  she's  got  her  punishment,  though; 
believe  she'll  go  crazy.  They  found  his  door  open,  the 
bed  not  touched,  and  his  sleeping  draught  untasted. 
Fearing  something  had  happened,  they  crept  down  the 
hall  to  her  room,  Mrs.  Beach's,  and  there  they  saw  him, 
dead." 

I  felt  a  creepy  feeling  coming  over  me,  "and  then?" 
I  asked,  in  a  queer  sort  of  voice. 

"They  ran  like  mad  for  help,  and  the  cook  has  gone 
into  one  fainting  fit  after  another  " 

We  turned  into  the  open  gate  and  went  slowly  up  the 
pretty  avenue  under  the  evergreens,  the  swollen  stream 
by  the  house  rushed  merrily  along,  but  the  flower  beds 
were  bare  and  the  shrubs  dead,  and  decay  had  settled 
upon  the  garden  that  was  as  desolate  as  the  home.  We 
met  some  of  the  miners  walking  in  the  path,  with  that 
way  of  folks  prying  around  when  the  man  of  a  place  is 
dead;  for  they  never  dare  come  when  he  is  alive.  There 
were  some  sitting  on  the  steps,  and  the  coroner,  a 
solemn-faced  man,  frowned  on  them  when  he  opened 
the  door  for  us. 


158  BABE  MURPHY. 

"1  have  locked  the  crowd  out,"  he  said,  in  a  low, 
funeral-like  voice.  "  We  needed  you,  Miss  Wilder;  the 
servants  are  of  no  use,  and  we  shall  want  some  of  his 
clothes  got  for  him."  He  spoke  of  the  dead  man  only 
as  "him,"  and,  I  suppose,  from  long  acquaintance  with 
death,  had  given  the  dead  only  a  pronoun,  not  a  per- 
sonality. "  Very  cold  weather  we  are  having,"  he  went 
on,  showing  me  into  the  parlor.  Lord,  how  could  he 
talk  of  weather;  what  did  it  matter  to  a  murdered  man? 
"The  coachman  can  not  be  found,  Mr.  Martin,  and 
two  of  the  horses  are  gone.  Now,  Miss  Wilder,  I  shall 
have  to  ask  you  to  come  to  the  room  occupied  by  him — 
he  is  not  there — and  to  look  over  his  clothing.  He  will 
be  left,  until  the  inquest,  where  he  is." 

Death  lurked  in  the  air  in  that  quiet  house.  The 
sunlight  streaming  into  the  pretty  parlor,  on  her 
piano,  the  music  still  in  the  rack  as  she  left  it, 
her  work  in  a  dainty  Chinese  basket,  had  a  strange, 
bright  cruelty.  There  was  her  lace  handkerchief  on  the 
table,  crumpled  up  by  her  hand  and  smelling  of  violets, 
an  odor  that  always  brings  me  back  to  that  day,  and 
will  as  long  as  I  live.  I  went  and  closed  the  shutters. 
The  ormolu  clock  on  the  mantel  ticked  musically,  and 
then  I  thought  if  the  master's  hand  wound  it  and  it 
would  run  until  the  machinery  stopped,  while  he  was 
still  and  motionless;  yet  his  personality  was  there.  It 
made  itself  apparent  in  the  stiff-backed  chair  he  liked; 
in  his  smoking  set,  where  a  cigar,  half  burned,  lay  as 
he  had  left  it  before  going  to  church;  there  was  his  hat 
in  the  hall,  not  the  one  dropped  that  night;  his  ebony 


A  TRAGEDY.  159 

cane,  with  a  gold  head,  and  I  wondered  if  he  had  put  it 
there,  or  ever  thought  that  his  hand  had  touched  it  for 
the  last  time.  The  stairs  were  carpeted  soft,  and  my 
footsteps  made  no  sound,  and  he  went  wearily  up  these 
stairs  last  night,  I  thought,  little  dreaming  then  he 
would  be  brought  down  in  his  coffin.  The  doctor  met 
me  in  the  upper  hall. 

"  You  are  a  sensible  woman,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice; 
"  I  think  you  will  be  brave  enough  to  stand  it.  Will 
you  go  see  him?  I  want  your  opinion,  and  you  must,  at 
all  events,  tell  what  you  know,  at  the  inquest.  Bad  as 
Con  Murphy  was,  I  will  not  think  he  murdered  that 
poor  man." 

I  took  off  my  hat  and  shawl,  and  laid  them  on  a  chair, 
and  found  myself  smoothing  my  hair,  showing  how  a 
habit  will  cling  to  one  always.  I  followed  him  into  a 
beautiful  room,  a  soft  blue  tint  in  paper,  carpet  and 
furniture,  a  bed  with  lace  shams  and  spread,  exquisite 
pictures  on  the  walls,  and  everywhere  dainty  bric-a- 
brac.  On  the  floor  and  chairs  were  her  clothes,  scat- 
tered in  wild  confusion,  every  bureau  drawer  was  wide 
open,  and  her  jewel  boxes  emptied  and  flung  down. 
The  gas  was  still  burning,  flickering  in  the  wind  from 
the  open  window.  We  had  gas  in  Erin,  and  I  must  say 
people  in  Western  towns  are  far  ahead  of  those  in  the 
East,  in  the  way  of  comforts.  I  thought  of  how  thau 
light  had  flickered  all  night  in  the  ghastly  stillness,  and 
far  off  its  glimmer  had  penetrated  the  trees,  but  brought 
no  helping  hand.  In  a  jog  behind  the  door,  a  safe  was 
set  in  the  wall,  and,  before  this,  lying  on  his  back,  as 


160  BABE  MURPHY. 

they  found  him,  lay  the  master,  dead,  never  to  open 
his  eyes  on  the  world  he  had  fought  so  bravely,  but  that 
had  crushed  him  at  last. 

lean  see  yet  that  decent  broadcloth  suit,  the  white 
shirt-bosom,  all  stained  with  blood;  the  disordered  hair, 
the  white  face,  where,  mercifully,  the  eyes  were  closed. 
I  thought  of  the  look  in  them,  and  what  his  last  glimpse 
of  life  had  seen.  Yet,  his  expression  was  calm,  the  thin 
lips  closed  in  a  quiet  way,  many  of  the  hard  lines 
smoothed  out  of  his  face. 

"A  face  changes  after  death,"  murmured  the  coroner, 
who  followed  me  like  a  horrible  shadow,  " I  never  knew 
why;  haven't  been  in  the  business  long;  looks  natural, 
don't  he?" 

My  eyes  strayed  in  a  strange  sort  of  fascination  to 
those  white,  bony  hands;  I  saw  the  waxen  fingers  were 
curled  into  the  palm  a  little,  and  on  one  was  a  mark  of 
powder. 

"  The  shot  was  fired  very  close,"  went  on  the  coroner, 
"his  vest  is  blackened  with  powder." 

I  tried  to  think,  with  a  confused  remembrance  one  has 
of  something  that  ought  to  have  happened  as  we  wished, 
if  Babe  gave  her  father  the  pistol  back. 

"The  pistol  is  beside  him,  there  on  the  left;  his  own. 
I  told  Hooper  I  thought  Murphy  always  carried  a 
forty-five  calibre,  this  is  only  a  toy  for  a  Western 
man,  can't  get  good  aim  with  it." 

"  There  are  no  bruises  on  him,"  whispered  the  doctor, 
"and  Murphy  is  a  powerful  man.  In  a  close  struggle 
as  this  must  have  been,  Beach  would  have  been  hurt." 


A  TRAGEDY.  161 

Other  people  coming  in  then,  I  went  to  the  master's 
room,  and  got  out  his  clothing.  Dear  me!  the  waste  of 
good  things  for  the  want  of  a  little  mending;  I  do  not 
believe  she  ever  sewed  a  stitch  for  him.  Those  clothes 
somehow  pictured  the  loneliness  and  isolation  of  his 
life.  "  You  were  good  to  her,  you  lonely,  frozen  soul," 
I  said,  "and  what  did  she  do  for  you?  It  seems  to  me 
even  if  I  hated  a  husband,  I  would  attend  to  his  wants. 
Your  room  was  fine  and  beautiful  enough,  but  his  is  so 
plain  and  forlorn,  and  nothing  kept  neat,  the  torn 
handkerchiefs  put  in  with  the  good  ones,  dust  every- 
where; his  brashes  neglected;  nothing  in  its  place.  Oh, 
you  poor,  dead  man!  proud  as  you  weue,  you  are  pitiful 
enough.  You  loved  her,  selfish  and  unworthy  as  she 
was,  and  I  doubt  if  a  better,  more  human  man  than 
you,  would  have  ever  thought  of  her  so  well." 

The  coroner's  jury  came  that  afternoon,  and  after 
they  had  viewed  the  corpse,  it  was  dressed  in  the  suit  I 
had  got.  and  laid  on  his  own  bed.  Hooper  told  me 
afterwards  I  had  got  Beach's  wedding  suit,  but  he  lies 
in  it  now,  in  his  last  rest,  and  after  all,  perhaps  his  hap- 
piest hour  was  when  he  wore  it  and  married  the  woman 
he  loved.  The  jury  poked  into  every  thing,  creaking 
about,  talking  in  low,  scared  tones,  and  then  we  all  went 
down  to  the  parlor  where  they  sat  around  a  table,  and 
questioned  those  who  knew  anything  about  the  death. 
I  got  the  cook  up,  but  she  was  too  upset  to  answer 
rationally,  and,  poor  soul,  forgot  all  she  knew  of  the 
English  language,  and  jabbered  away  in  Swedish,  until 
we  sent  her  away.     When  I  came  back  from  her  room 


162-  BABE  MURPHY. 

off  the  kitchen,  I  heard  a  sound  on  the  porch  as  if  some 
one  was  trying  to  make  a  dog  be  quiet  and  lie  down, 
and  then  the  coroner  opened  the  hall  door  to  usher  in 
Con  Murphy's  daughter,  summoned  as  a  witness  against 
her  father. 


m- 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

WEARY   OF   THE   MOUNTAIN    WALLS. 

She  came  into  the  room  and  faced  them  quite  calmly, 
answering  all  their  questions  with  quiet  dignity.  "That 
was  not  my  father's  revolver,"  she  said.  "  I  had  his 
in  my  possession  Sunday  night,  it  was  much  larger." 
"At  what  time?"  they  asked.  "When  he  met  Beach." 
Did  she  ask  for  it,  fearing  trouble  ?  No,  her  father  gave  it 
to  her  of  his  own  motion.  He  said  it  was  Mr.  Beach's 
place  to  shoot  not  his.  Well  they  did  not  care  to  hear 
that,  but  did  she  not  know  the  dead  man's  life  had  been 
threatened  for  years  by  her 'father?  Yes,  she  did  know 
that,  with  a  weary  sort  of  scorn,  did  not  a  great  many 
men  talk  that  way,  was  it  not  a  custom  in  the  camp  ? 
After  that  speech,  that  they  took  kindly,  one  of  the 
jurymen  asked  how  long  the  liason  had  been  going  on 
between  her  father  and  Mrs.  Beach. 

"  That  does  not  concern  the  dead  man,"  she  said, 
firmly,  "  it  can  do  the  case  no  good,  and  if  I  knew  I 
would  not  tell." 

They  respected  her  wish  to  be  silent  on  that  painful 
subject,  and  soon  she  was  allowed  to  go,  and  she  came  to 
sit  by  me.  We  had  just  begun  to  breathe  freely,  think- 
ing there  was  no  case  at  all  against  Murphy,  when  Eli 
Hartman  was  called.  He  got  up,  looking  pale  and  anx- 
ious, and  gave  Babe  a  miserable  glance,  as  if  he  did  not 
want  to  speak. 

163 


164  BABE  MURPHY. 

No  one  had  seen  Murphy  near  Beach's  house,  and 
the  case  against  him  looked  well  on  that  account, 
but  now  Hartman  said  he  had  heard  of  the  trouble  and 
had  gone  to  Daggett's  house  to  get  Dick  to  look  after 
Murphy  for  fear  of  bloodshed.  He  then  went  to  look 
for  Con  himself,  as  Dick  was  in  Denver.  They  had  been 
partners  once  in  a  mine,  and  he  always  liked  Murphy  and 
would  not  believe  he  was  cowardly  enough  to  kill  an  old 
man  like  Beach.  He  was  told  by  the  jury  his  opinions 
could  be  dispensed  with,  and  looking  angry  and  insulted 
he  went  on.  He  could  not  find  Murphy  and  then  went 
to  Beach's  house,  it  was  late — after  twelve,  he  thought. 
He  saw  three  horses  tied  in  the  trees  by  the  gate  and 
heard  footsteps.  Not  wishing  to  intrude  before  he  knew 
who  was  coming,  he  hid  in  the  bushes  and  saw  Murphy, 
Mrs.  Beach  and  the  negro,  Jones,  come  down  the  avenue, 
mount  the  horses  and  ride  rapidly  away.  He  was  sure 
they  were  there,  could  even  tell  Mrs.  Beach  had  on  some 
sort  of  a  fur  cloak,  saw  her  hand  a  package  to  Con. 
They  stopped  a  moment  to-  tie  some  bundles  on  the 
saddles.  He  heard  nothing  they  said,  did  not  think 
they  spoke  at  all.  Con  swore  some,  tightening  a  girth 
in  his  saddle,  for  the  horse  would  not  stand,  that  was  all. 
Did  he  hear  any  shots  ?  No,  not  a  sound,  and  his  hear- 
ing was  good,  too,  had  never  been  questioned.  He  sat 
down,  and  I  could  not  tell  if  his  testimony  had  helped 
or  hurt  Murphy.  The  jury  went  out  in  the  dining  room 
then,  and  we  sat  and  waited  for  the  verdict.  I  helped 
get  the  cook  in  a  wagon  and  she  was  taken  away.  I 
think  she  died  in  the  insane  asylum  afterwards.     Poor 


WEARY  OF  THE  V0VNTA1N  WALLS.  1G5 

foreign  creature,  she  had  not  been  in  this  country  a  year, 
and  her  opinions  of  us  as  a  people  and  our  goings  on 
must  have  been  strange. 

At  half-past  seven  Doctor  Hooper  came  to  us.  "The 
verdict  is,  he  came  to  his  death  from  a  pistol  wound  in 
the  hands  of  a  person  unknown,"  he  said,  cheeringly, 
"it  was  the  only  possible  one.  I  don't  believe  in  the 
suicide  theory  myself  now,  for  the  position  of  the  body, 
the  pistol  and  the  wound  are  against  it.  He  was  shot 
by  some  one  who  was  struggling  in  his  grasp,  and  has- 
tily too,  without  aim.  No  man  could  hold  a  weapon  and 
kill  himself  in  that  way.*  I  never  will  believe  it  was  Mur- 
phy that  did  it,  he  is  too  powerful  a  man,  Beach  would 
be  a  child  in  his  hands;  now,  Babe,  you  take  up  heart, 
this  will  not  hurt  you." 

"I  thank  you,"  she  said,  sadly,  "the  time  has  come 
when  I  shall  need  all  my  friends." 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Martin,  joining  us,  looking  red 
and  angry,  "very  sorry  to  have  to  act  as  I  shall,  but  I 
owe  a  great  deal  to  Mr.  Beach.  He  took  me  from  an 
obscure  position  and  made  me  attorney  for  the  Maid  of 
Erin  mine.  I  intend  to  push  this  case  and  find  Mr. 
Beach's  cowardly  murderer. 

"I  suppose  you  do  owe  something  to  Beach  ?"  saidBabe, 
curling  that  short  lip  of  hers,  the  ugly  look  in  her 
eyes,  "but  I  thought  he  paid  you  well  for  aiding  him  to 
outwit  the  rest  of  the  owners  in  the  mine!  He  cer- 
tainly made  enough  to  afford  it." 

"Women  have  at  best  a  shallow  acquaintance  with 
business,"  said  Martin,    rudely,    "you   only  see  with 


166  BABE  MURPHY. 

your  father's  eyes.  I  tell  you  what  I  am  going  to  do, 
for  I  do  not  wish  the  people  here  who  have  some  sense- 
less liking  for  Con  Murphy  to  think  that  I  went  about 
proving  the  murder  in  any  underhand  way.  The  grand 
jury  is  in  session,  the  district  attorney  a  friend  of 
mine,  and  I  shall  have  a  charge  of  murder  brought 
against  your  father  and  get  out  a  warrant  for  his  arrest." 

"  I  should  think,"  Babe  muttered,  "  you  would  wait 
for  Mr.  Beach's  relatives  to  do  something.  I  am  sure 
Mr.  Ballinger  will  be  here  in  a  day  or  two  when  he 
knows. " 

"  He  was  telegraphed  for,  but  had  left  Denver  sud- 
denly some  days  ago,  and  no  one  knew  where  he  went. 
Mr.  Beach  has  only  distant  connections,  so  all  the 
affairs  of  the  funeral  and  property  are  in  my  hands.  I 
was  left  in  the  dark  about  his  last  will,  he  left  orders 
it  was  not  to  be  opened  for  two  months,  for  I  think 
he  feared  some  trouble  and  wished  to  give  me  time  to 
set  matters  right.  For  your  sake,  I  hope  Murphy 
may  be  proven  innocent,  but  I  tell  you,  frankly,  it  looks 
very  bad  for  him." 

"I  am  glad  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  do,  and, 
unjust  as  you  are,  I  thank  you  for  telling  me/'  said  Babe, 
courteously,  and  then  he  went  away.  "  Tom  never  got 
our  telegram,"  she  said,  mournfully,  as  we  walked  home. 
"  I  can  not  see  anything  we  can  do  except  to  hope  and 
pray  my  father  may  not  be  found." 

We  did  nothing  in  the  case.  I  kept  on  with  my 
school,  and  Babe,  growing  thinner  and  paler,  took  care  of 
the  house.     Beach's  body  was  sent  to  his  Massachusetts 


WEARY  OF  TEE  MOUNTAIN  WALLS.  167 

home  for  burial,  and  a  host  of  hungry-looking  distant 
connections  flocked  into  Erin  to  see  if  there  was  any- 
thing for  them.  I  hear  some  of  their  board  bills  for  the 
next  two  months,  while  they  waited  for  the  opening  of 
the  will,  are  not  yet  paid,  and  Mrs.  Finnerty  wrote  me 
long  afterwards,  "They  was  sarved  right  and  got  their 
comeuppance"  (the  last  word  I  taught  her,  it  being  a 
favorite  in  Southport) .  It  took  a  couple  of  days  to  get 
out  the  warrant  for  Murphy,  and  that  much  more  time 
he  had  to  escape,  so  I  hoped,  as  all  the  papers  were  full 
of  the  murder,  Con  had  warning  enough  to  keep  out  of 
the  way.  As  time  went  on,  we  lost  our  fear  that  every 
passer  was  him  brought  back,  but  we  were  unhappy 
enough.  Babe  grew  sad  and  morose  under  the  shame  of 
it,  and  folks  did  act  a  little  different  towards  us.  I  saw 
the  sentiment  of  the  community  was  against  Murphy. 
He  was  so  big  and  strong  and  the  murder  such  a 
cowardly  one;  then  Mrs.  Beach  was  always  hated,  and 
the  fact  that  she  was  somewhere,  happy,  possibly,  with 
the  sinful  man  she  loved,  made  all  the  dislike  come 
uppermost.  At  last,  when  two  of  the  children  were 
taken  away  from  school,  because  I  lived  with  Murphy's 
daughter,  I  sent  in  my  resignation  on  the  spot.  Then 
I  went  home  and  told  Babe,  and  we  got  ready  to  depart. 
She  was  eager  to  go,  and  yet  heart-broken  that  I  had 
suffered  in  some  way  for  my  love  for  her. 

"Good  land,  dear,"  I  said,  "I  have  been  dying  to  get 
out  of  here,  I  am  sick  of  those  walls,  those  eternal,  ever- 
lasting mountains,  I  want  to  get  in  an  open  country,  I 
want  a  horizon  in  my  life,  not  to  be  hedged  in  and  no 
getting  away  or  looking  off." 


168  BABE  MURPHY. 

It  was  the  first  day  in  December  when  we  shook  the 
dust,  or  rather  snow,  of  Erin  off  our  feet,  never  to  see 
the  place  again  or  walk  in  the  shadows  of  those  mighty 
mountains,  already  white  and  drear  with  the  snows  of 
winter.  The  road  was  icy  and  slippery,  and  that  ride 
haunts  me  yet.  Our  belongings  filled  the  stage,  and  we 
and  the  dog  were  the  only  passengers.  Babe  sold  her 
broncho  to  Hartman,  who  I  know  gave  the  beast  good 
care.  Dr.  Hooper  and  Mrs.  Finnerty  came  to  see  us 
off,  and  Hartman  came  running  in  his  working  clothes 
to  say  good-bye  as  we  reached  the  high  ground  near  the 
mine.  The  last  thing  we  saw  in  Erin  was  that  cottage 
Beach  had  built  for  his  wife.  It  looked  as  pretty  as  ever, 
with  its  gay  paint  and  its  fair  surroundings  but  the  cur- 
tains were  down  and  no  blue  curl  of  smoke  floated 
from  its  chimneys  in  the  frosty  air.  Deserted  and  soli- 
tary under  the  pines  peopled  with  ghosts  and  creeping 
sounds  and  strange,  pallid  faces,  filled  with  remem- 
brances and  memories,  to  stand  for  years  in  desolating 
decay,  and  then,  in  time,  to  bear  the  reputation  of  being 
haunted. 

"Looks  bad,  don't  it?"  said  our  driver,  "  Lord,  Babe, 
who  would  have  thought  Con  would  have  panned  out  as 
he  done,  jolliest  kind  of  a  feller  once,  but  after  the 
wimmen  too  much.  Been  all  right  ef  they'd  let  him 
alone,  wimmen  makes  lots  oi  trouble." 

"You  know,  well  enough,  my  father  did  not  kill 
Beach,"  Babe  cried,  angrily,  "he  was  not  a  coward,  and 
he  was  the  best  shot  for  miles,  and,  if  it  does  sound 
wicked,  the  shot  that  killed  Beach  was  bungling  work 
and  none  of  his." 


WEARY  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN  WALLS.  169 

"It  wan't  Con's  style/'  said  the  driver,  thoughtfully, 
"he  was  alius  quick  to  get  the  drop  on  a  man  and  done 
a  neat  job,  but  mebbe  he  was  cornered,  man  or  dog 
wun't  fight  fair  when  cornered,  Babe." 

She  did  not  reply,  and  there  was  little  talk  on  the 
way.  The  weather  was  bitterly  cold  and  we  went  slew- 
ing along  the  edges  of  precipices  and  abysses  until  I  made 
a  vow  I'd  keep  on  a  level  country  the  rest  of  my  life.  It 
was  no  comfort  to  me,  either,  when  I  gave  a  little 
screech  at  particularly  bad  places,  to  have  that  driver 
look  around — not  minding  the  horses  at  the  time  too — 
and  say,  scornfully,  "  That's  nawthin',  come  over  here  a 
month  from  now."  To  which  I  would  answer,  "  I  hope 
never  to  set  foot  in  this  wilderness  again."  At  Silver 
City  our  driver,  and  grumpy  he  had  been,  surprised  us 
by  refusing  to  take  a  cent  for  our  fare. 

"  Been  driving  that  stage  fifteen  year;  Con  Murphy's 
made  thet  town  and  his  girl  shall  git  a  free  ride  outer 
it.  Them  corporations  ain't  got  no  feelings  (with 
quite  a  series  of  rumbling  oaths).  Let  'em  come  to  me 
for  their  pay,  say  I,  and  they'll  git  it  in  talk."  He  got 
quite  red  in  the  face,  for  he  was  short-necked  and 
apoplectic.  He  hurled  our  trunks  out  and  commanded 
the  hotel  porter  to  give  us  the  best  in  the  house  and  no 
big  bills  neither,  then  he  patted  the  dog  with  his  big 
mitten,  looking  sl}Tly  at  m£. 

"  Say,  old  lady,"  he  said,  mysteriously,  Babe  having 
gone  into  the  hotel,  "tell  her  I'll  eat  my  heart  and 
liver  fore  I'd  believe  Con  done  that  killing,  but  appear- 
ances has  to  be  kep  up,  biz  is  biz,  an'  the  sentiments  of 


170  BABE  MURPHY. 

tlio  town  is  agin  Con,  and  outwardly  I  has  to  tramp 
along  with  the  percession." 

Babe  came  towards  us  then  with  a  box  in  her  hand. 

"  Take  it  from  me,  Tony,  many's  the  ride  you  have 
given  me  free  before  and  the  talks  I've  had  with  you 
bruising  my  broncho's  knees  against  the  stage  wheels, 
while  you  were  telling  of  '  Injuns/  I  know  your 
weakness  and  every  one  of  these  you  smoke  will  make 
you  think  kindly  of  my  father  and  me." 

"  Wal  now,  wal,  wal,"  he  said,  quite  upset,  opening 
the  box  of  cigars  and  smelling  of  them  with  a  satisfied 
grunt,  "ten  centers,  I'll  be  denied." 

"  I  didn't  want  to  poison  you,"  she  laughed,  "  Good- 
bye," the  slim  hand  lay  in  the  big  mitten  a  moment, 
"  and,  Tony,  when  time  goes  on  you  will  speak  a  good 
word  for  me  now  and  then.  The  old  place  will  never 
see  Con  Murphy's  daughter  again,  and  I  was  born  there 
and  grew  to  womanhood  there.  I  was  the  maid  of 
Erin  more  than  the  mine." 

"There  isn't  a  miner  there,  Babe,"  he  said,  solemnly, 
"but  speaks  the  highest  praise  of  you.  This  is  only  a 
cloud  as  'twere,  bless  your  sweet  face,  Babe,  if  that  'ere 
lied  been  a  fair  fight,  or  two  pistols  found,  or  Con  got 
limbed,  he'd  a  been  acquitted  unanimous." 

He  climbed  up  on  the  stage  with  great  haste,  caught 
up  his  reins,  slipped  the  brake  with  a  creaking  noise 
and  with  a  great  flourish  drove  up  the  street,  all  because, 
good,  honest  man,  there  was  something  dimming  his 
kind  eyes.  I  insisted  we  should  have  our  supper  served 
in  our  room,  though  Babe  objected  on  account  of  cost. 


WEARY  OF  THE  MOUNTAIN  WALLS.  171 

"Land  child,"  I  says,  "Fve  got  three  thousand  in 
ready  cash,  and  you  a  hundred,  and  we  don't  want  to 
be  gawked  at  by  those  galoots  down  stairs."  It  was 
real  cosy  in  our  room,  and  eating  at  a  little  table,  sort 
of  Bohemian  and  jolly,  and  she  ate  more  than  since 
Beach  died.  We'd  smuggled  the  dog  in,  and  covered 
him  with  shawls,  when  the  waiter  came  in,  and  the 
animal  lay  quiet,  as  if  he  knew  deceiving  was  necessary 
for  his  comfort;  We  gave  him  the  scraps  before  the 
victuals  were  carried  out,  and  after  the  waiter  had  gone, 
I  carefully  examined  the  mattress,  Babe  laughing  at 
me,  but  I  wanted  to  sleep  in  peace.  There  is  something 
worse  than  the  plagues  of  Eg}-pt,  I  have  found  out  in 
my  travels.  Then  I  sat  down  and  Babe  beside  me,  her 
head  in  my  lap.  I  took  her  hair  pins  out  and  smoothed 
her  hair  for  her,  as  I  usually  did  to  comfort  her. 

"Ain't  it  good  to  be  away?"  I  says.  "I  feel  like  I  was 
out  of  school,  as  I  am.  Now,  what  do  you  say  for  a  trip 
to  Southport,  and  a  living  there  in  my  house,  two  old 
maids  together." 

"  Oh,  you  dear  thing,  but  this  old  maid  is  a  sour, 
gloomy  one  with  a  pain  in  her  heart." 

"Ballinger  is  too  old  to  get  lost,  my  dear,  he  has  cut 
his  teeth,  and  struck  me  as  uncommonly  fitted  to  get 
along.  To  use  slang  he  was  cheeky  enough  too.  But 
don't  you  get  into  mooning  ways.  La  me,  I  feel  like 
the  children  of  Israel,  and  what  a  foolish  time  they  were 
getting  through  the  desert,  forty  years  in  the  wilderness, 
and  most  of  them  dying  by  the  wayside.  Wandering  in 
a  circle  like  one  does  in  Boston,  and  bringing  up  where 
one  started  out." 


172  BABE  MURPHY. 

She  gave  me  a  little  squeeze.  "  But  I  think,  Ann,  I 
may  never  see  him  again,  because  he  will  not  want  to 
come," 

"  In  that  case,  my  dear,  good  riddance  to  bad  rub- 
bish. If  you  are  thinking  he  will  be  different  because 
of  the  murder,  set  your  heart  at  rest,  his  own  folks  ain't 
none  too  well  behaved.  To  my  mind,  though,  I  don't 
like  to  be  against  a  woman,  but  I  do  think  Clara  was 
more  to  blame  than  your  father,  for  if  she  had  not  had 
flirtatious  ways  he  would  never  have  dared  speak  to 
her,  and  a  woman  does  have  to  begin  such  affairs  her- 
self.    That  I  know." 

At  that  moment  there  sounded  a  brisk  business  like 
knock  on  our  door,  and  thinking  of  sheriffs,  and  the 
law  and  that  we  were  pursued,  though  what  we  did, 
I  could  not  know,  I  jumped  to  my  feet.  The  person 
did  not  wait  for  me  to  answer  the  knock,  but  boldly 
opened  the  door  and  stalked  in. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

DICK    DAGGETT  TALKS. 

"It's  only  Dick  Daggett/'  said  Babe,  much  relieved, 
laying  her  head  back  on  my  knee,  "you  and  I  act  like 
criminals." 

"I  don't  know  but  what  we  are  accessories,"  I  an- 
swered, thinking  of  a  glove  in  the  pocket  of  a  certain 
gown  of  mine.  I  recollected  I  had  not  mentioned 
finding  it  to  that  jury,  but  I  wasn't  paid  for  my  tes- 
timony as  they  and  the  lawyer  would  be.  I  felt  like  a 
sensible  man  in  a  street  fight,  I  just  kept  along  and 
minded  my  own  business,  it  was  nothing  to  me  if  the 
law  got  worsted,  and,  as  is  often  the  case,  in  being  called 
on  to  help  the  police,  one  gets  hurt  and  no  thanks  for 
it.  Dick  sat  down,  his  hat  on  the  back  of  his  head, 
a  big  cigar  in  his  mouth  and  tilted  his  chair  against  the 
wall,  keeping  one  foot  on  the  rung. 

"  This  is  the  h —  of  a  bad  business,  Babe/'  he  says. 

She  seemed  used  to  his  ways  and  only  nodded  wearily, 
I  gave  that  hat  a  withering  look,  which  he  chose  not  to 
see 

"  I  got  home  a  week  ago,  Em  told  me  about  it,  see  it 
too  in  the  Denver  papers.  Kind  of  mean  of  you,  Babe, 
never  to  come  to  say  good-bye,  you'd  saved  me  a  trip 
here  if  you  had/' 

173 


174  BABE  MURPHY. 

"I  never  wanted  to  see  the  old  house  again,  Dick, 
and  I  guess  you  were  not  worrying  much  about  me." 

"■  Say  everything  right  out  like  you  used  to,"  he 
laughed,  "but  honest,  Babe,  I  rode  here  after  you  just 
out  of  friendship.  You  can't  deny  I  was  square  with 
you  in  old  times." 

"  But  for  you,  Dick,  where  might  I  have  been?"  she 
said  with  a  shudder.  "  Oh,  I  never  want  to  think  of 
it.  Did  you  really  care  to  see  me  enough  to  come  all 
this  way  to  say  good-bye?" 

"I'll  be  honest,  too,  Babe,  I  come  mostly  to  give  you 
a  message.  Yon  see  I  met  Con  in  Denver,  they  got  away 
from  here  by  the  early  train  Monday  morning,  and  I 
met  them  Tuesday  night.  Con  was  full  of  spirits,  not 
rum,  I  mean,  but  lively  and  glad  to  get  out  of  Erin. 
Only,  he  says,  with  some  swearing,  "  I  made  up  my  mind 
for  a  trip  abroad,  but  blank  me  I've  got  a  bit  in  my 
teeth.  It's  rough,  after  a  long  life  of  having  your  own 
way,  to  have  a  little  woman  you  could  crush  with  one 
hand  drive  over  you  rough  shod.  Clara's  got  the  boodle 
too,  and  I'm  broke,  as  usual,  and  we  are  going  to 
Texas,  cuss  the  luck." 

"  Texas,"  Babe  repeated . 

"Yop.  They  went  off  that  night,  and  I  paid  Con 
five  hundred  in  cash  for  his  share  in  the  mine.  Honest, 
Babe,  if  it  ever  pans  out  I'll  do  fair  by  you,  Em  can 
say  what  she  wants  to." 

"Pa's  mines  always  were  N.  G.  after  the  Maid  of 
Erin,"  she  laughed,  "keep  all  you  get,  Em  can  spend 
it  for  you.     So  they  got  off  all  right?  " 


DICK  DAGGETT  TALKS.  175 

"That  very  evening  I  think.  I  saw  Mrs.  Beach  in 
the  hall  she  was  dressed  in  black  with  a  widow's  veil 
and  she  was  one,  by — ,  but  no  one  knowed  it,  and  they 
are  in/'  he  brought  his  chair  down  with  a  thump, 
lowering  his  tone,  "in  a  little  town  called  Corpus 
Ohristi.  Never  mind  how  I  know  it,  I  sticks  by  an  old 
pard  and  never  had  no  stock  in  Beach.  He  robbed  me 
too  and  had  oughter  been  shot,  but,  dern  me,  if  Con  done 
it,  it  was  his  first  bad  work.  That's  what  made  the 
sentiment  agin  him.  They  are  at  that  place  with  the 
name  that  if  it  wan't  in  Spanish  would  be  wicked  to 
say,  like  there's  an  engine  I  see  in  Denver,  Sangre  de 
Christo,  and  yet  them  Spanish  was  said  to  be  religious. 
I  may  as  well  tell  you  Con's  on  his  last  legs.  He  has 
been  going  a  pretty  rapid  pace  for  months,  for  years, 
more  like,  and  it  may  be  malaria,  or  Texas  whisky 
that  is  finishing  him,  or  a  general  break-up,  but  he  writ 
he  was  on  his  death-bed  and  wanted  to  see  you.  He 
said  Clara  kept  him  so  close  he  had  to  steal  the  letter 
out  by  a  boy.  I  burned  it — don't  want  no  troublesome 
docriments  found  on  me.  I  keep  a  close  mouth  too' 
and  I  am  pretty  sure  Mrs.  Beach  has  fixed  the  detectives, 
she's  a  mighty  smart  woman,  and  Martin's  mean  enough 
to  lay  his  family  graveyard  inter  building  lots,  or  stake 
a  claim  on  his  mother's  burying  place,  he's  a  skin,  and 
sometimes  in  law  as  in  poker,  it's  a  matter  of  who  puts 
up  the  most  on  a  bluff.  Con  says  he  wants  to  see  you 
and  get  friendly  with  you  'fore  he  chips  in,  and  that 
you  are  the  h —  of  a  fine  girl,  not  his  exact  langwige 
maybe,  for  he  was  college  larned,  but  near  enough  to 
it  to  swear  by," 


174 

■ 
..... 

-  ,er,   v 

u  own  some 

■ 

rj,   I  WJgfr  Ik:  that 

•      -. 
"I. 



II 
| 

11  V,  -.  that," 

"  \v  )m,  andCoi 

rn  dm  J! 

for  )  o    ; ally  light  on  both  feet," 

A  thai  b  • 

I 

"15  Dick/'aeuddennrn 

j  find  i 
tie  a  I  p  in 

I 

or  the  bed," 

"  \  will  not  be  the  daughter  of  a  m  r,  i  will 

hia  name/'  die  Mid. 


LICK  DAGGETT  TALK  177 

"Ought  to  have  begun  earlier  then,"  he  said,  coolly, 
'•'  Con's  been  mining  a  good  while  and  accidents  happens 
uncommon  easy,  when  there's  a  cuss  trying  to  do  you 
out  of  a  claim.  Him  and  me  was  in  Montany 
when  you  was  a  kid,  and  Con's  got  a  denied  unpleasant 
habit  of  calling  a  bluff  or  of  filling  a  draw,  and  though 
he  never  cheated — h-  fetter — he  was  quick  to 

it  in  others,  and  to  .is  opinion  with  a  gun; 

Lord,  him  and  me  was  vigilantes  once,  regular  picnics 
of  killing;  and  Injuns,  if  they  counted.     Of  course  the 
nar:        s    t  around,  but  you  can  change  that,  maybe,  to 
Ballinger.     Good  stuff  in  that   cuh>,  Babe.    Jest  k 
cool  and  after  you're  married,  if  he  ever  tw  i  of 

your  father,  you  up  and  give  him  a  racket  about  his 
cousin,  111  give  you  some  astonishing  facts  about  Mrs. 
Beach.  Don't  look  glum  on  me,  I  guess  I  know  more'n 
you  do  about  gitting  married  and  fighting ;  hain't  you 
seen  me  and  Err.  ?  Well  a  good  road  to  you  and  fair 
traveling,  say  good -bye  to  the  old  man  for  me,  wonder 
what  sort  of  a  country  him  and  me  will  stake  our  next 
claim  in.     S'  long." 

Jus  k  from  that  evening  Babe  and  I  found  our- 

selves in  a  Pullman  car,  nearing  the  quaint,  old 
San   Antonio.     I  am  over  tired  of  writing,  my  hand, 
unused  to  the  pen,  and  stiff  and  old,  but  like  the  brook 
I  could  go  on  forever  abo:  of 

wide  lands  and  clear  skies,  of  boundless  prairie  and  spring 
sunseh.in  The  home  of  the  south  wind,  its  languid 
air  balmy  and  beautiful,  but  cleared  now  and  then  by  a 
breath  from  the  north  that  brings  health  and  purity, 


178  BABE  MUEPIIY. 

like  our  New  England  winters.  In  the  Pan-handle 
alone,  there  is  room  for  future  generations,  and,  though 
I  shall  leave  none  after  me,  I  am  glad  there  is  a  home 
for  other  people's  descendants.  I  fancied  I  would  grow 
young  again,  in  that  land  of  perpetual  summer,  that  in 
these  December  clays  had  hardly  a  touch  of  the  chill  of 
winter.  After  all,  eternal  summer  has  always  been  in 
my  heart.  I  will  never  grow  old,  I  said,  and  join  the 
groaning  ones,  I  will  keep  all  my  hope  and  joy.  I  won't 
be  a  moss-killed  oak,  but  a  green  and  strong  old  tree. 
I  will  be  a  cheerful  pilgrim  on  my  progress,  as  all 
ought  to  be  if  they  can. 

I  looked  at  Babe,  who  is  rosier  now,  and  acts  a  bit  like 
her  old  self.  "Is  it  not  much  better,  my  clear/'-  I  said, 
"to  travel  first-class?"' 

"'But  I  feel  like  an  adventuress,  me  with  seventy-five 
dollars  in  the  world  and  dependent  on  your  kindness." 

"  Keep  your  best  foot  foremost,  my  dear.  The  world 
treats  you  by  your  looks.  Ink  the  worn  places  on  your 
black  silk,  metaphorically  speaking,  for  you  haven't 
one.  Xever  patch.  Some  book  said  once  a  patch  is 
premeditated  poverty,  a  rip  may  be  the  accident  of  a 
moment.  Here  am  I  in  my  second  best  gown,  on  the 
shady  side,  that  I  procured  by  giving  the  porter  a  dollar, 
and  everybody  thinks  I  am  well-to-do  and  treats  me 
accordingly.  In  the  common  car  the  seats  are  not  so 
comfortable,  it's  dusty  and  not  clean.  The  cup  is  rusty, 
the  water  warm,  the  men  spit  tobacco  juice  on  the  floor 
and  the  women  have  famished  and  clamorous  babies 
that,  poor    little  souls,     give  one  only  an. idea  of  the 


DICK  DAGGETT  TALKS.  179 

repulsiveness  of  childhood,  never  its  clean,  white  loveli- 
ness. Fve  quit  going  second-class.  As  they  say  in 
Erin,  dern  me,  but  I  want  the  gilt-edge." 

"Oh,  you  old  sinner,  if  you  were  twenty  years 
younger  you'd  be  at  Monaco  bucking  the  tiger." 

"  Your  language  is  not  elegant,  my  dear,  but  I  think 
I  would.  I  shall  go  there  when  you  are  a  respectable 
married  woman.  Goodness!  what  thoughts  I  used  to 
think  in  meeting  at  Southport,  of  meanderings,  and 
time  went  on  and  I  only  had  my  thoughts,  but  at  last  I 
could  put  them  in  action.  Like  Christopher  Columbus, 
I  am  on  a  voyage  of  discovery,  and  shall  never  settle, 
down  again.  I  may  be  an  old  lunatic,  but  I'll  have  my 
fun.  Land,  Fve  a  mind  to  get  some  red  paint  and  what 
are  those  things,  plumpers,  and  blonde  my  hair  and 
start  out  on  the  war  path.  I  tell  you,  Babe,  I  shan't 
never  rest  satisfied  until  I  marry  a  Texas  colonel.  They 
are  the  only  men  I  ever  hankered  after." 

We  both  laughed  then,  for  she  knew  what  I  meant.  A 
certain  Colonel  Neil  Latham,  of  Corpus  Christi,  had 
made  our  trip  delightful.  We  got  acquainted  with  him 
at  the  start,  when  he  insisted  on  his  giving  up  his  lower 
berth  to  Babe  the  moment  he  found  she  had  an 
upper  one,  and  after  that  he  was  all  attention.  He 
helped  us  on  and  off  the  cars  at  eating  stations,  and 
explained  the  scenery  all  along  the  line  and  kept  us 
fairly  distressed  with  oranges  and  bananas  and  litera- 
ture. He  was  not  a  young  colonel  at  all,  and  had  hon- 
estly won  his  title  in  the  Confederate  army.  T  think  the 
prettiest  sight  on  that  whole  trip  was  him  and  a  L^nion 


180  BABE  MURPITY. 

soldier  talking  ever  old  times  and  battles  with  perfect 
good  will  and  courtesy. 

""When  the  blatant  noises  in  Congress  and  conven- 
tions and  the  ward  bummers  in  the  beer  halls  quit  war 
talk,  the  late  unpleasantness  will  be  forgotten,  my  dear," 
I  said.  "  There  is  no  animosity  nor  bitterness  in  the  talk 
of  those  two  gentlemen  nor  ever  is  in  the  reminiscences 
of  soldiers  of  either  side  when  they  meet.  lam  terrible 
tired  of  men  that  want  to  make  stepping  stones  to  polit- 
ical honors  of  dead  men's  names,  of  live  men's  hearts." 

"It  is  pleasant  to  hear  those  two,"  she  whispered, 
watching  them,  leaning  her  pretty  cheek  on  her  hand, 
and  then  they  told  her  stories  of  the  war.  One  of  the 
Colonel's,  about  a  cook  he  had  and  a  banquet  he  gave 
where  there  was  gopher  soup,  and  fried,  boiled,  stewed, 
roast,  only  the  flesh  of  that  animal,  all  gotten  up  by  an 
ignorant  foreigner  because  the  Colonel  suggested  he 
make  the  gopher  the  center  of  the  feast. 

"  Why  didn't  you  gopher  him?"  said  Babe,  and  I  was 
ashamed  of  her,  for  the  Colonel  could  not  think  a  lady 
could  joke,  and  regarded  her  with  grave  politeness  as  if 
she  had  made  some  serious  suggestion. 

I  notice  Texas  gentlemen  are  not  quick  to  see  wit  in 
ladies,  they  have  a  way  of  making  us  out  angelic  beings 
that  must  be  hard  on  the  female  population  to  live  up 
to.  If  the  younger  men  have  a  way  of  taking  one's  arm 
to  aid  one  over  most  trivial  difficulties  as  up-stairs  and 
the  like,  and  may  be  sit  a  bit  nearer,  I  like  it  better 
than  the  frozen  North  and  Boston.  If  I  was  a  young 
girl  and  a  handsome,  dark-eyed  son  of  the  South  squeezed 


DICK  DAGGETT  TALKS.  181 

my  hand  a  little  more  than  I  was  used  too,  or  grew 
tender  and  melancholy  when  we  parted,  I  would  never 
glare  at  him,  I  would  think  I  might  live  in  Boston  a 
great  many  years  before  I  could  make  an  impression  so 
easily.  A  man's  admiration  is  always  a  compliment 
anyway;  somehow  I  remembered  that  Jim  Dunn's  saying 
I'd  a  trim  figure,  and  being  more  than  ever  careful  of 
the  set  of  my  basques. 

Speaking  of  Boston,  reminds  me  of  a  day  when  I 
sauntered  into  an  art  gallery,  where  I  saw  a  young  lady 
with  eye-glasses,  sitting  with  her  beau  in  front  of  a 
statue,  not  remarkable  for  its  apparel,  and  calmly  read- 
ing about  it  in  a  catalogue.  I  suppose  every  nation  has 
its  customs,  but  the  sight  of  those  two  young  creatures 
gave  me  a  shock;  I  wasn't  cultured,  and  I  did  quit  that 
gallery  some  uncomfortable,  thinking  if  any  of  the 
Southport  folk  knew  I'd  been  there  what  they  would 
say.  Still,  there's  hope  for  Boston,  now;  all  its  gov- 
ernment is  in  the  hands  of  the  sons  of  the  soil,  while 
the  sons  of  first  families  are  writing  biographies  and 
essays  on  civil  service,  and  lots  of  little  trash  that 
keeps  them  out  of  mischief  and  don't  do  anybody  any 
harm. 

Our  colonel  is  all  of  fifty-five;  he  has  sandy  hair  and 
beard,  thickly  streaked  with  gray;  his  eyes  are  sort  of 
hazel  and  have  a  weary  expression,  for  the  world  has 
been  cruel  to  that  good  man.  His  idolized  wife  and 
daughter  have  died  in  the  last  two  years,  and  he  has  no 
one  to  care  about  him.  I  think  he  remembers  his 
daughter  when  he  looks  at  my  dear  girl,  and  she  tries  to 


182  BABE  MURPHY. 

be  very  lady-like  and  nice,  not  to  shock  him.  He  calls 
her  Miss  Wilder,  thinks  her  my  niece  and  I  tell  her  let 
it  be  so.  There's  lots  of  good  citizens  in  this  country 
that  came  out  here  with  nom  de  plumes;  I  kind  of  wish 
Fd  taken  the  name  of  a  first  family  of  somewhere,  an 
Adams  or  a  Bid  die,  something  so  I  could  have  blood  if 
I  didn't  have  beauty. 

We  arrived  in  San  Antonio  very  late  at  night,  but 
our  Colonel  got  us  a  carriage,  and  at  the  hotel  had  a 
good  room  secured  for  us  and  the  best  attention.  In 
the  morning,  as  we  had  time,  he  insisted  on  taking  us 
driving.  Oh,  that  quaint  and  beautiful  city,  where  the 
San  Antonio  winds  through  street  and  lane,  under  rus- 
tic bridges,  through  tangled  undergrowth,  by  meadow- 
lands  and  quiet  homes.  It  is  crystal  clear,  with  a 
soft,  greenish  tinge,  and  mirrors,  on  its  quiet  waters, 
many  old-time  scenes,  rare  in  this  day  of  progress — 
that  hateful  progress  that  means  removing  the  ancient 
landmarks,  against  the  Scripture  and  good  taste.  We 
passed  through  narrow  streets,  where  the  adobe  houses 
crowded  the  very  sky  from  showing.  Here  there  were 
Mexican  senoritas  and  odd  musical  language  that  sounds 
like  poetry,  but  may  mean  just  the  old-time,  ''Come  in 
out  of  the  sun,  Mary  Ann/'  or  like  domestic  calls.  We 
passed  fine  old  manor  houses  hidden  in  the  trees,  or 
stately  city  homes,  the  fine  cathedral  of  San  Fernando, 
the  Alamo,  a  great  adobe  building,  its  quaint  chapel 
standing  as  it  used,  but  stripped  of  all  the  associations 
of  the  past — a  mere  shell.  I  think  the  fort  was  used  as 
a  storage  house  or  grocery  warehouse,  but,  all  the  same, 


DICK  DAGGETT  TALKs.  183 

the  ghosts  of  Santa  Anna's  band  are  there,  and  the  brave 
men  who  fought  them  so  fiercely.  Then  we  drove  down 
the  river  to  the  other  missions  through  a  fertile  coun- 
try. 

Some  of  the  ruins  were  enough  to  show  us  the  grace- 
ful outlines  of  those,  I  suppose  they  were  meant  to  be, 
meeting  houses,  built  in  the  early  part  of  seventeen 
hundred,  and  I  could  not  but  think  that  those  good 
fathers  had  a  fine  idea  of  location,  for  their  land,  within 
the  sound  of  the  Angelus,  was  the  best  around  the  coun- 
try. Somehow  the  Catholics  always  got  along  well 
with  the  Indians,  in  a  William  Penn  sort  of  way,  but 
nowadays  our  government  only  blunders,  and  fire  water 
and  greed  of  settlers  is  quietly  working  out  the  prob- 
lem of  extermination,  and  nothing  said  to  trouble  any- 
body. We  drove  back  and  across  the  Plaza,  they  call 
it,  a  sort  of  square  where  there  were  market  things  and 
loads  of  mesquite  drawn  by  lean  oxen.  Wood  is  queer 
in  Texas;  they  have  whole  groves  of  trees  that  fool  the 
tenderfoot,  for  they  look  like  fine  young  orchards,  but 
are  only  good  for  fuel,  and  the  roots  are  burned  at  that. 
At  night  the  Plaza  is  animated  and  gay;  there  are  songs 
and  dances,  and  the  senoritas  that  we  saw  very  dirty 
and  lazy,  smarten  up  and  come  here  to  sell  chili  con 
carnei — I  believe  that  is  right — which  is,  in  spite  of 
its  name,  only  a  sort  of  pepper  hash,  the  meat  not 
nice,  to  my  taste,  and  choking  me.  The  Colonel  told  us 
all  this,  and  got  us  some  at  a  restaurant.  We  finished 
by  a  tour  of  the  military  post  and  a  look  at  the  fat, 
well-fed  soldiers — such  lazy  creatures!  I  am  glad  there 


184  BABE  MURPHY. 

are  no  more  of  them.  I  do  think  Europe  would  be  bet- 
ter off,  a  good  deal,  if  the  standing  armies  had  to  work 
for  a  living. 

The  colonel  put  us  aboard  of  our  train,  and,  after 
saying  he  hoped  he  would  see  us  soon,  stood  vith  his 
hat  off  while  we  were  in  sight. 

"  Bless  the  man,"  I  said,  "  did  you  ever  see  prettier 
manners?  I  have  been  reading  of  Southern  gentlemen 
all  my  life,  and  there  is  the  Simon-pure,  only  with  the 
great  heart  this  generous  big  State  gives  to  all  of  its 
men." 

"  You'll  never  get  out  of  Texas  a  single  woman." 
laughs  Babe. 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to,"  I  answer. 

Then  we  go  on,  jiggerty-jig,  jiggerty-jig,  and  my 
thoughts  go  traveling  with  the  train.  We  fly  through 
silent  woods,  by  endless  fields,  white  with  cotton  in 
summer  time,  by  plantation,  and  cabins,  Uncle  Toms 
everywhere,  and  mammys,  fat  and  comfortable,  and 
black  babies,  playing  in  the  sun;  past  swamps,  bayous, 
sluggish  and  slow,  half  hid  in  cypress  shadows;  past 
towns  and  hamlets,  jiggerty-jig.  Then  on  again,  by 
great  oaks,  bearded  with  moss,  that  means  malaria, 
but  that  looks  beautiful,  and,  as  I  don't  live  there, 
I  don't  care  how  unhealthy  they  may  be,  and  I  think 
of  old  men  in  majestic  bearded  age.  Then  clank- 
erty-clank,  and  we  cross  a  wooden  bridge.  I  look- 
in  some  terror  at  the  length  of  it  and  the  waves  sough- 
ing against  the  piles,  but  Babe  laughs,  and  says  the 
water   is   only  two   or   three   feet  deep,   that   we   are 


DICK  DA  GOETT  TA  LKS.  185 

on  the  coast  now,  and  a  county  road  is  actually  laid 
out  under  the  sea.  We  go  out  on  the  platform,  the 
salt  air  blowing  in  our  faces  and  my  eyes  fill  with  home- 
sick tears,  for,  far  ahead,  lies  the  blue  and  sparkling  sea, 
lit  by  a  pale,  young  moon,  and  saying  to  me  those  old, 
old  words,  I  loved  in  my  youth:  "Life  is  like  the  sea, 
men  go  as  the  waves  go,  and  beyond  that  far  blue  line 
is  joy  eternal."  Aye,  it  said  all  that  to  me  in  my  child- 
hood, and  I  thought  some  day  I  might  sail  away  into 
the  enchanted  world,  beyond  the  far  horizon,  but  that 
was  never  to  be. 

We  reach  a  stretch  of  sand,  and  the  train  stops  at  a 
little  station.  Corpus  Christi,  the  porter  says,  and  we 
send  our  baggage  to  the  hotel,  that  is  far  off,  where  the 
glimmering  lights  shine  across  the  distance.  Then, 
sent  by  the  porter,  we  set  out  for  Mrs.  Jones'  cottage, 
following  Dick's  directions.  We  come  to  a  long  beach, 
where  a  gentle  surf  breaks,  and  whispers,  and  comes  and 
goes  forever,  and  has  for  so  many  endless  years.  Far 
ahead  we  see  the  glimmer  of  a  light  that  shines  a  bright 
pathway  on  the  sea.  It  has  a  friendly  look,  and  the 
cottage,  quaint  and  small,  is  set  close  by  the  shore  on  a 
little  bluff.  At  the  door  are  two  bushes  that  make 
me  think  of  the  lilacs  in  Southport,  and  the  shells 
bordering  the  walk  bring  me  back  to  my  own  home, 
where  I  was  born  and  lived  my  young  life.  The  sound 
of  the  waves  follows  us,  and  the  wind  sighs  and  the 
light  flickers  on  the  sea,  but  the  voices  I  have  always 
heard  tell  me  we  are  not  too  late. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CLAKA   AND    CON". 

At  the  click  of  the  gate  the  door  of  the  house  opened 
suddenly,  and  a  slight,  graceful  woman  stepped  out  in 
the  path.  It  was  Mrs.  Beach,  sadly  altered,  grown  pale 
and  worn,  with  circles  under  her  bright  eyes,  and  a 
strange  nervousness  in  her  manner.  She  quickly  closed 
the  door,  and  then  pulled  Babe  away  from  the  house. 

"Come  out  on  the  beach,"  she  said,  with  trembling 
lips.  "Oh,  I  beg  you  listen  to  me.  He  must  be  prepared. 
I  only  knew  to-day  you  were  coming. " 

"I  must  see  my  father  at  once,"  said  Babe,  stub- 
bornly. 

"Oh,  have  pity!  Babe,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Beach,  "come 
away  from  the  house,  don't  awaken  him,  he  just  fell 
asleep  after  such  dreadful  pain.  Spare  him  further  suf- 
fering if  you  can." 

We  went  with  her  a  little  distance  from  the  house, 
and  she,  much  easier  in  her  manner,  asked  how  we 
knew  where  they  were,  and  all  about  the  doings  after 
the  murder  was  discovered.  She  seemed  to  know  so 
much,  I  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  she  had  been  tampering 
with  the  law  or  its  officers,  and  felt  pretty  safe  in  her 
hiding  place.  I  saw  that  she  was  terribly  nervous, 
catching  two  or  three  times  before  she  could  gather  up 
the  trail  of  her  wrapper,  a  soft  crimson,  but  lace  and 

186 


CLARA  AND  CON.  187 

all  much  worn  and  soiled.  In  fact,  she  looked  as  if  she 
no  longer  cared  to  be  "fixed  up/'  as  we  say  in  South- 
port.  She  pushed  back  the  heavy  hair  from  her  face, 
holding  both  hands  behind  her  head  as  if  she  were 
utterly  weary.  We  went  on  where  a  log  lay  half  buried 
in  the  sand,  and  here  she  sat  down. 

"  I'm  worn  out,"  she  sighed,  "night  and  day,  since  we 
came,  I  have  waited  upon  him,  watching  over  him  every 
moment,  sleeping  little,  eating  nothing.  I  seem  to  be 
a  woman  now,  if  I  never  was  before.  I  don't  know, 
Wilder,  but  I  might  have  been  good,  and  this  would 
never  have  happened,  had  I  been  given  a  chance.  I 
tried  to  act  right  at  first,  but  my  husband  stifled  all  the 
goodness  in  me.  He  cared  nothing  for  caresses,  and 
those  little  acts  of  affection  women  like,  and  I  had  been 
starved  for  love  all  my  life.  He  denied  every  wish  of 
mine,  I  had  no  horse  to  ride,  no  young  company,  no 
pleasure  at  all,  no  society  but  his.  I  was  buried  in  that 
dreary  place,  shut  into  a  round  of  duties  and  days  that 
never  changed.  I  felt  I  should  go  mad  from  the 
monotony.  Were  there  not  domestic,  mindless  women 
for  him,  why  should  fate  have  thrust  such  a  life  upon 
me?  The  wife  he  fancied  I  was  would  have  been  a  dead 
woman  or  an  idiot.  One  day,  smarting  under  the  hu- 
miliations that  man  put  upon  me,  beating  my  helpless 
wings  against  the  cage  he  made  for  me,  I  met  Con,  and 
then  my  life  changed.  Look  upon  me  as  you  will, 
Babe,  your  father  meant  to  drag  me  down,  and,  God 
knows,  I  was  easy  to  lead.  I  loved  him  from  the  first, 
and  for  years  our  friendship  was — was  not  wicked.     I 


188  BABE  MURPHY. 

was  closely  watched  by  my  husband,  for  my  mother  had 
warned  him  I  might  rebel  at  first.  So  time  went  on, 
and  I  studied  my  part  carefully,  and  I  got  letter  per- 
fect. I  made  a  fool  of  that  man  who  read  other  people 
so  well.  He  could  find  no  flaw  in  me,  and  by  degrees 
his  watch  relaxed. 

Xights,  when  I  played  my  piano — it  was  not  for  him, 
sleeping  stolidly  through  Mendelssohn  and  Mozart,  but 
for  my  lover  outside.  Oh,  the  moon-lit  walks  we  took; 
the  daring  journeys  up  those  lonely  mountains  where  a 
misstep  might  bring  us  the  death  we  reckless  souls 
feared  not  if  we  could  die  together.  The  joy  of  a  com- 
panionship with  a  bright  man  who  allowed  me  intellect; 
who  liked  to  talk  to  me;  who  found  in  me  a  friend  and 
fellow  traveler,  as  daring  as  he  was,  asking  his  aid  only 
at  times  when  climbing  was  beyond  any  woman's 
strength.  At  first  he  strove  for  baseness  and  revenge, 
to  win  me  from  Beach,  but  afterwards  he  loved' me. 
Have  pity  on  me,  you  two,  for,  at  the  last,  when  the 
world  is  free  to  Con,  to  me  who  love  him  so,  he  is  to  be 
taken  from  me. 

"  You  know,  Wilder,"  piteously,  "how  beautiful  he 
is,  perfect  as  man  I  ever  dreamed  of,  do  we  not  all  love 
beauty?  Did  he  not  sway  you  by  it,  you  who  wanted 
to  hate  him?  Then  think  of  me,  I  loved  him,  and  he 
ah,  God,  he  did  love  me.  I  could  die  in  prison  as 
calmly  as  I  lived  with  that  dead  man,  for  when  the 
breath  leaves  Con's  body  my  heart  dies.  Babe,  you  are 
his  child,  you  have  his  eyes,  a  sort  of  nameless  likeness 
to  him  that  used  to  make  me  mad  with  jealousy  because 


CLARA  AND  OON.  V<< 

yon  were  his  child.  Ton  made  me  think  there  wu3 
another  woman  in  his  life,  a  memory  only,  but  just  as 
hateful  to  me.  But  he  lores  me,  never  cared  for  your 
dead  mother,  and  I  can  see  you  now  without  an_ 
You  are  young,  you  love  too,  can  you  stand  there  and 
condemn  me?  Can  any  woman  with  a  heart  in  her 
bosom?  Be  gentle  and  pitiful  to  me,  for  he,  my  lc 
my  only  love,  is  dying." 

Babe  went  to  her  then  and  put  her  arm  aronnd  that 
bowed  figure  and  laid  the  weary  head  on  her  breast. 

•  •  I  can  pity  and  forgive,"  she  said,  oh,  how  ten- 
derly, "I  have  been  cruel,  perhaps,  I  do  not  know 
how  sorely  yon  were  tempted.  But  why  did  my  father 
act  the  coward,  wa?  that  poor  man's  life  necessary  for 
your  happiness." 

"  Oh,  in  pity  hush,"  cried  Clara,  raising  her  tear-wet 
face,  "do  not  drive  me  mad.  Con  did  not  kill  Beach, 
I  -v.-~;,r  ::  ::.  jr.  7  =:■■:/:.     II -r  '   " 

that,  he  was  brave  and  hated  our  deceit,  begging  me 
always  to  go  away.  He  is  innocent  and  he  does  not 
even  know  my  husband  is  dead." 

•  If  that  is  so,  I  can  hold  up  my  head  again,"  said 
Babe,  earnestly,  "oh,  the  shame  and  sorrow  I  have 
endured ! " 

"I  brought  you  here  to  warn  you  not  to  tell  him," 
went  on  CLira,  sadly.  "  Oh,  my  love,  so  soon  to  be  torn 
from  my  care,  denied  the  life  that  beggars  fling  avr 
:ha:   =u:-:-:ie=   LoL'I   =:    /         D~n:~-j   ::.         . •'.:  :o    ":'•; 
when   vre   can  y-7-     T:.:-.k   "-~1L    ;:    ::.->.    ■;■:-   r.:: 

k-.:~  r.v  -.-.::.'-.   i~.:i:.  z~z  ~r.~  ir.  v;ur   urir.g  ~~v:.::i  '.'..- 


190  BABE  MURPHY. 

truth  I  have  kept  from  you.  If  you  should  turn  from 
me  them  I  would  die,  too,  in  agony.  They  say,"  with  a 
jarring  laugh,  "that  the  wages  of  sin  is  death,"  he 
repeats  it,  and  so  it  seems  with  us,  but  I  can  only  see 
my  evil  fate  that  mocks  me  now  as  "t  ever  has." 

Babe  lifted  her  gently  and  they  went  together  to  the 
house,  my  dear  girl  murmuring  comforting  words  of 
forgiveness  and  pity.  We  are  sinners  all,  and  who  shall 
judge  those  who  do  what  we  may  think  to  do,  or  who 
fall  as  we  may  never  fall  because  we  are  never  tempted. 
In  what  world,  thought  I,  will  those  two  enemies  meet, 
can  any  heaven  ever  hold  them  both,  or  if  both  be 
barred  from  that,  any  place  of  punishment  ?  For  my 
part  I  carry  some  old  animosities  to  my  grave  with  me 
and  I  don't  want  to  give  them  up  afterwards. 

"Come,  dear,"  said  Babe,  waiting  at  the  gate  for  me, 
and  then  we  went  softly  into  the  kitchen  where  a 
gloomy-faced,  old,  negro  woman,  much  blacker  than  her 
son,  got  us  some  tea.  Jones  looking  shabby  and  seedy 
waited  on  us. 

"H'm,"I  says,  "if  it  ain't  in  a  good  cause,  you're  a 
faithful  fellow  any  way." 

"  Mis'  Beach  alius  good  to  me,"  he  answered,  seeming 
pleased,  "I  done  stay  by  her." 

"Those  is  wicked  days,"  groaned  the  old  woman, 
whose  gloomy  face  looked  like  that  of  a  prophetess  and 
foreteller  of  evil,  and  yet  I  think  she  must  have  been  a 
light-minded  young  colored  girl  in  her  day  and  certainly 
her  son  was  a  mighty  gentlemanly  fellow.  "  l)e  Lawd 
ain't  gwine  to  furgive  ye,  Lewis,  yo'  done  trifling  with 


CLARA  AND  CON  191 

Satan.  De  Lawd  ain't  got  no  use  fur  them  that 
helps  the  evil  one."  She  rocked  to  and  fro,  and  I  thought 
her  a  fitting  servitor  to  Con  Murphy  in  his  last  hours  on 
earth,  for  she  seemed  sincere  repentance  for  a  light- 
minded  youth. 

"  He  is  awake  now,"  said  Clara,  softly,  and  we  crossed 
the  little  hall  to  a  bedroom  facing  the  bay,  where  the 
salt  air  would  fan  the  cheek  of  the  sick  man,  the  spray 
when  the  wind  blew,  tapping  softly  on  the  window 
pane,  where  he  might  lie  and  hear  the  voices  calling,  as 
little  Paul  heard,  calling  to  drift  with  them  to  oblivion 
and  death.  To  die  as  a  wave  dies,  swept  back  into  the 
mighty  ocean  of  eternity.  Oh,  it  is  easy  to  lie  on  one's 
death-bed  by  the  sea,  dying  is  pleasant,  or  if  that  be 
denied  me,  I  would  like  to  lie  in  the  shade  of  those 
mighty  tree  monarchs  in  the  Yosemite;  by  their  3,000 
years  my  little  personality  is  nothing — the  passing  of  a 
summer  zephyr. 

I  looked  at  him  sadly,  that  handsome,  powerful  man, 
brought  so  low  and  helpless.  His  beautiful  eyes  were 
more  like  Babe's  now,  for  their  mocking  light  had  faded 
forever.  He  was  white  and  thin,  wasted  to  a  shadow 
of  himself,  but  retaining  his  wonderful  comeliness  and 
the  winning  smile,  that  I  saw  last  on  his  dead  lips,  and 
marveled  that  fate  could  be  kind  to  him  at  the  end  and 
make  his  death  so  peaceful . 

"  These  are  the  wages,"  he  said  to  Babe,  and  smiled, 
but  I  saw  something  glisten  in  his  eyes  and  his  lips 
trembled.  He  put  out  his  hand  and  she  knelt  beside 
him. 


192  BABE  MURPHY. 

"My  father!  my  father!"  she  repeated,  softly. 

"I  played  a  trick  on  Clara,  she  watches  me  sharp, 
but  I  was  not  so  weak  I'd  lost  my  old  skill  at  decavin\ 
I  wanted  to  see  my  big,  handsome  girl  before  I  quit  the 
game.  A  bad  father  Fve  been,  but  never  a  time  there 
wasn't  in  my  heart  a  liking  for  you." 

"I  loved  and  hated  you,"  she  sobbed,  "my  dear, 
dear  dad." 

"  That  sounds  like  old  times,  when  we  were  pards, 
before  you  got  above  timber-line  and  I  went  into  the 
valley."  He  smoothed  her  hair  softly,  then  looked 
across  to  me.  "  Well,  I  declare,  there  you  are,  old  Wil- 
der, not  a  hair  of  those  curls  awry.  You've  been  the 
salvation  of  Babe.  Saint  Ann  in  the  wilderness."  He 
pressed  my  hand,  looking  at  me  quizzically. 

"We  dragged  you  into  our  deviltries,"  he  went  on, 
"now  you  are  lending  your  New  England  conscience 
and  countenance  to  an  elopement,  and  one  of  the  parties 
a  married  woman.  Fie,  fie,  and  is  the  old  man  bearing 
it  well?    Damn  it,  I  can't  but  pity  him." 

"  He  is  very  calm,"  I  said,  thinking  with  a  horrible 
mirth  how  calm  he  was,  "I  fancy  he  will  not  trouble 
much,"  and  as  Clara  gave  me  an  imploring  look,  "he 
never  was  one  to  give  in  beat." 

"  You  are  a  fair,  old  maid,  if  there  ever  was  one,  and 
I  know  you  pity  Clara  and  me,  for  you've  got  a  man's 
soul  in  that  small  body.  A  heart  as  big  as  a  Colorado 
mountain,  that's  pretty  steep,  but  I  never  knew  a 
woman  like  you.  You  are  as  a  cup  of  cold  water  to  a 
thirsty  soul.     Keep  with  my  girl,  and  keep  her  good  till 


CLARA  AND  CON.  193 

her  lover  comes,  as  he  will,  Babe.  Women  like  you 
are  not  so  many  in  this  world  that  he  can  let  you  go. 
Lying  here,  looking  out  on  the  sea,  I  fall  to  thinking  of 
my  life,  and  the  ghosts  of  what  I  might  have  done  come 
trooping  forth,  and  the  one  that  haunts  me  most  is 
that  of  a  little,  neglected  child  that  I  might  have 
loved  and  cared  for.  I  think  of  your  dead  mother,  and 
of  the  day  I  struck  you;  she  never  had  to  say  that  I 
was  cruel  to  her,  she  died  loving  me,  and  then  I  was 
only  a  boy  too,  but  you,  a  part  of  her  life  and  mine. 
Oh  Babe,  forgive  that  blow,  it  is  written  on  my  soul." 

"I  tried  you,  dear,"  she  murmured,  "1  told  Ann 
then  we  would  never,  never  remember  it.  It  is  for- 
gotten." 

"I  like  to  think,  Babe,  you  came  out  all  right,  that 
your  soul  is  pure  and  white,  that  your  ruined  life  is  not 
on  my  heart  now,  as  I  have  Clara's  and  the  dread  of 
her  future." 

She  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  seeming 
shut  out  by  us  for  the  moment.  "  There  will  be  no 
future,  Con,  and  we  have  been  happy.  Could  I  ever 
sully  your  memory  ?  We  have  been  wicked,  our  love 
was  a  sin,  but  it  was  true  love,  and  will  be  so  through 
all  eternity." 

"For  both,"  he  smiled.  "  Now  Babe,  say  you  forgive 
your  unworthy  father,  lay  your  soft  cheek  close  to  mine, 
say  as  you  used  to  when  you  were  a  long-legged,  spider 
of  a  child,  'Dad  let's  make  up  and  be  everlasting 
friends/  Everlasting  now;  your  bitterness  to  me  must 
end  at  my  grave." 


194  BABE  MURPHY. 

"I  have  never  ceased  to  love  you,,  father/' she  sobbed, 
and  put  her  arm  around  his  neck.  Then  Clara  and  I 
went  away  and  left  them  to.  make  their  peace  alone. 
The  negro  woman  who  had  taken  a  great  liking  to 
Babe,  came  to  tell  me  our  room  was  ready;  while  she 
spoke,  Babe,  looking  pale  and  red-eyed,  came  swiftly 
out,  and  went  away  by  herself  to  cry. 

" Can't  I  sit  up  with  you?"  I  asked,  looking  into 

the  sick  room,   "and  save  your "     Good  gracious, 

I  nearly  said  wife!  , 

"I  know  what  you  were  going  to  say,"  he  laughed, 
bitterly. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  severely,  "  I  wish  she  could  have 
been  such,  all  fair  and  honest  in  the  sight  of  God." 

"All  fair  and  honest  in  the  sight  of  God,"  he  re- 
peated, as  if  my  poor  words  were  ringing  in  his  heart, 
"Ah,  if  it  could.     Won't  you  rest,  Clara." 

"I  have  not  left  you  yet,"  she  cried,  miserably, 
"  Con,  could  you  sleep  without  me?  " 

He  fastened  his  brilliant  eyes  on  her  face,  looking  at 
her  with  that  tender  smile,  "Not  in  my  grave,  my  love, 
not  even  in  my  grave  if  you  forget  me.  Do  you  remem- 
ber long  ago  I  read  you  once, 

'  My  heart  would  hear  her  and  heat, 
"Were  it  earth  in  an  earthy  bed  ; 
My  dust  would  hear  her  and  heat, 
Had  I  lain  for  a  century  dead.' 

"  Only  a  few  hours  of  life,  my  love,  of  happiness 
together.  Come  close  and  talk  to  me,  let  us  two  sin- 
ners be  together  to  the  end." 


CLARA  AXD  CON.  195 

As  Clara  went  to  him,  my  eyes,  blinded  with  tears, 
could  no  longer  look  on  them  and  condemn.  Sadly 
confused,  pitying  that  poor,  wronged  husband,  pitying 
them,  a  straw  blown  by  every  wind,  I  went  softly  away 
and  left  them,  wondering  if,  in  this  case  because  she 
loved  much  she  could  be  forgiven.  Xot  by  this  world, 
but  by  a  better.  And  yet  it  was  all  wrong,  bitterly, 
wofully  wrong. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   DEATH   OF   CON. 

"  I  never/'  said  that  old  colored  woman,  "  sets  here 
o'  nights  a  listening  to  the  waves,  but  what  I  prays  fur 
him.  De  good  Lawd,  furgive  his  wicked  ways  and  be 
mussiful  to  a  poo',  misruble  sinner." 

"I  shall  pray  that,  too/'  I  said,  "and  it  is  not  .for 
long,  the  signs  of  death  are  in  his  face.  If  this 
were  Southport  I  should  think  he  would  go  out  with 
the  tide.  I  never  knew  a  soul  to  go  when  the  flood  was 
coming  in,  though  they  say  in  Boston  the  idea  ain't  so, 
but,  dear  me,  after  all,  I  think  culture  is  proving  every- 
body but  yourself  wrong." 

"  Folks  thinks  thater  way  here,  ma'am,  it's  a  seafaring 
place,  there's  big  schooners  down  by  the  wharves  in  de 
town,  and  deep  water  beyond  the  bar  outside.  Ay, 
there's  terrible  waves  comes  here  sometime,  a  raisin'  of 
the  sea  so  slow  you  cayen't  see  it,  but  de  fust  you  know 
the  waves  is  over  eberyting." 

"I  hope  it  may  be  the  prayers  of  us  two  honest,  old 
women  will  help  his  journey,  Drinda,  I  think  they  call 
you.  La  me,  a  strong  man  withers  away  like  a  flower, 
and  lies  low  when  his  strength  fails,  then  on  that  last 
narrow  bed,  a  bad  life  comes  to  haunt  and  make  miser- 
able the  few  hours  left." 

"An'  him  talkin' that  we  done  skel'tons,"  said  the 
old  woman  with  shrill  anger,  "ay,  he  say  to  me, ' Drinda, 

196 


THE  DEATH  OF  CON.  197 

strip  off  yo'  bones,  no  one  tell  yo'  bones  is  dem  of  a 
church  member's,  or  jist  a  wicked  woman.  Der  ain't 
room  in  Hebben  fur  all  dem  that's  died,  nohow,  or  de 
bad  place  neither,  deys  moren  de  waves  in  de  sea,  an' 
the  leaves  in  the  forest,  de  Lawd  done  f urgit  all  'bout 
you.'  Oh,  Miss,  dem  ain't  no  salvation  thoughts,  dem's 
dreful  trifling  ways." 

Clara,  looking  ghastly  and  frightened,  came  into  my 
room  at  sunrise.  "He  is  asleep,"  she  said,  hoarsely, 
"I  sent  Jones  for  the  doctor;  oh,  I  am  afraid,  Miss 
Wilder,  there  is  a  change  in  his  face,  for  Heaven's  sake 
come." 

Babe  and  I  rose  and  dressed  and  went  softly  into  the 
sick  room.  Over  the  wide,  blue  water,  glinted  the  morn- 
ing light,  and  every  wave  dimpled  and  sparkled;  far  off 
sounded  the  crowing  of  a  cock,  the  bark  of  a  dog  and 
the  rippling  laughter  of  a  child.  The  world  seemed 
more  alive  with  brightness  and  color  now  that  death 
was  so  near.  And  yet  I  wonder,  be  it  ever  so  fair  a 
morning,  if,  when  our  time  comes,  we  shall  not  be  ready 
and  willing  to  go.  Jones  came  hurrying  across  the  sand 
followed  by  a  short,  stout  man,  who  went  in  to  the  sick 
room  without  ceremony. 

"Madam,  I  can  do  nothing  here,"  he  said  to  Clara, 
" why  did  not  you  send  for  me  before  ?    He  is  dying." 

"He  would  not  have  a  physician,"  she  stammered, 
"he  has  been  ill  a  long  time.  I — I  thought  you  might 
make  his  last  hours  easier." 

"I  doubt  it,"  answered  the  little  man,  briskly.  He 
felt  the  flickering  pulse,  listened  to  the  faint  throbs  of 


198  BABE  MURPHY. 

the  heart.  "He  will  pass  away  quietly  in  his  sleep, 
ma'am." 

"And  never  know  me  again?"  she  cried,  wildly. 

"Would  you  try  to  awaken  him  and  bring  him  back 
to  pain?  I  doubt  even  if  you  could.  Let  the  end  be 
peaceful  and  happy  in  sleep." 

"Only  slay,"  she  sobbed,  "keep  him  a  little  longer; 
is  there  no  drug  that  will — can  money  pay  you  to  make 
him  see  me  once  more — to  speak  to  me?  Oh,  think  his 
voice  must  die  and  through  all  my  life  I  shall  never — 
never  hear  it  again.    For  God's  sake,  have  pity  on  me!" 

"You  will  be  ill  yourself,  madam,  here,  drink  this 
brandy,  now  if  you  can  not  control  yourself  you  must 
leave  the  room." 

"Ah,  I  will  be  very  still,"  she  moaned,  and  knelt  by 
the  bed,  laying  her  hand  on  that  quiet  one." 

"Had  you  looked  on  death  as  I  have,"  the  Doctor 
went  on,  not  unkindly,  "you  would  think  as  I  do,  it  is 
only  a  passing,  the  nicker  of  a  light,  a  happy  release 
from  suffering.  Have  you  ever  lost  a  loved  child,  and 
after  all  its  weariness  and  pain  have  said,  'it  is  best,  I 
would  not  call  it  back?'" 

"  I  never  had  a  child,"  she  said.  "  I  never  saw  death 
before;  and  to  him,  to  me,  there  is  no  future,  we  lived 
only  in  this  life.  Oh,  my  love,  my  love,  open  your  dear 
eyes  once  more,  just  to  look — one  look.  Oh,  fate  can 
not  be  so  bitter,  so  unjust." 

"  Have  mercy  on  him  ?  "  said  the  Doctor,  solemnly, 
"and  do  not  bring  him  back." 

She  grew  quiet  then,  and  the  clock  seemed   to  tick 


THE  DEATH  OF  CON.  199 

louder  and  more  cheerily  than  ever  one  did  before. 
The  soft  plash  of  the  sea  against  the  sand  chimed  with 
the  solemn  moment.  I  heard  the  old  woman  sobbing, 
Jones  whispering  to  her,  the  creaking  of  the  Doctor's 
shoes.  The  moments  were  passing,  and  time  to  him 
would  soon  be  no  more;  of  all  the  wasted  hours  of  his 
life  there  was  not  now  a  second  given  him  to  say  fare- 
well. 

Suddenly  into  his  pallid  face  there  came  the  change, 
the  awful  seal  of  death.  His  drawn  muscles  relaxed, 
the  lines  of  pain  smoothed  away  and  a  smile  came  upon 
his  lips.  There  was  a  sigh,  "a,  sound  so  fine  there's 
naught  that  lives  'twixt  it  and  silence,"  the  passing  of  a 
human  soul.  Then  the  peace  that  is  beyond  our  under- 
standing came  to  him. 

And  thus  he  died,  that  man  of  a  black,  sad  past,  as 
quietly  and  peacefully  as  an  innocent  child  drifting  into 
dreamland.  Since  that  time  the  mystery  called  death 
has  been  to  me  more  marvelous,  more  beautiful  than  I 
ever  imagined  it  could  be. 

"It  is  the  end,"  whispered  the  Doctor,  laying  his 
hand  on  Clara's  bowed  head.  It  seemed  that  soul, 
already  far  on  its  way,  must  have  heard  her  cry  of 
agony  and  lingered  in  sad  sympathy,  and  gone  on, 
forced  by  invincible  power,  but  unwillingly.  The 
Doctor  and  my  dear  girl  carried  Clara  to  her  bed  where 
for  two  days  she  lay  in  a  stupor.  But  when  I  went  to 
her  the  third  morning  to  tell  her  he  must  be  buried 
that  day,  and  did  she  wished  to  see  him  once  more,  she 
got  up  with  strange  strength  and  went  about  the  duties 


200  BABE  MURPHY. 

forced  on  her,  with  calmness  and  care.  She  stood  by 
his  grave  and  watched  the  clods  fall  when  his  daughter 
had  gone  sobbing  away.  She  closed  the  coffin  herself 
allowing  no  one  to  see  him  after  that.  I  saw  there  at 
his  grave  her  old  manner  had  come  back,  she  had  that 
impassive  look,  that  cold  indifference  she  had  worn 
when  I  saw  her  first.  So  we  went  away  and  left  him 
lying  in  that  far  land,  in  that  hillside  burying  ground 
by  captains  and  sailors,  Indians  and  Mexicans  with 
their  musical  Spanish  names,  side  by  side  with  that 
strange  company  under  the  scattered  grass,  unshaded 
by  any  generous  trees  or  shrubs,  in  that  dreary,  sandy 
land  by  the  sea. 

A  fortnight  after  the  funeral  Clara  came  to  me  to  ask 
about  Mr.  Beach's  will.  Babe  was  out  on  the  beach 
that  morning,  she  had  a  great  liking  for  the  sea,  and  she 
and  her  dog  could  always  be  found  close  by  the  shore, 
she  lying  looking  at  the  blue  distance  with  that  wistful 
look,  so  often  on  her  dear  face  since  he  went  away. 
As  for  me,  I  liked  the  town  better,  its  quaint  streets 
paved  by  nature's  hand  with  sea  shells  ground  to  pow- 
der, its  homey  houses  hidden  in  trees,  its  generous 
folks,  its  views  of  blue  water  and  the  balmy  air  that 
always  whispered  of  Paradise. 

I  told  Clara,  sitting  there  in  the  room  where  Coii  died, 
all  about  the  trouble  at  Erin  and  the  feeling  against  him. 
"  It  does  not  hurt  the  dead,"  she  said,  rebelliously, 
looking  so  white  and  worn,  so  utterly  miserable,  that 
from  my  heart  I  pitied  her. 

"It  hurts  the  living,  Clara."     I  could  not  call  her 


THE  DEATH  OF  CON.  201 

Mrs.  Beach.  "  Babe  will  never  marry  your  cousin 
while  the  world  says  her  father  is  a  cowardly  mur~ 
derer. 

"  His  mother  would  never  consent,  anyway." 

"H'm,"  I  says,  a  man  of  twenty-six  has  outgrown 
apron  strings,  I  hope.  Your  marriage  was  made  by 
some  heartless  old  creature,  and  how  has  it  turned  out?  " 

"  You  are  partly  right,  but  much  of  the  blame  must 
be  laid  on  me,  I  married  to  get  rid  of  an  unhappy 
home,  so  there  is  no  excuse  for  me.  Tom's  mother  is 
a  kinder  woman  than  mine,  but  is  soured  by  trouble.  I 
would  rather  face  the  yellow  fever  or  that  dead  husband 
come  to  life,  than  to  meet  my  mother  now,  yet  a  mother 
heart  should  have  some  mercy.  She  will  be  my  cruel- 
est  judge,  the  Lord  preserve  any  erring  women  from 
ever  having  to  be  judged  by  women,  good,  narrow- 
minded  women,  of  shut-in-lives  and  homely  faces. 

"  Men  are  easily  won  over  to  a  woman's  cause  if  she 
is  fair  to  look  upon,  Clara,  and  on  that  account  it  would 
be  perfectly  safe  for  you  to  go  to  Erin  and  clear  up  that 
mystery  about  Beach's  death."  She  gave  me  a  murder- 
ous look,  and  I  know  by  her  black  eyes  her  temper  is 
something  awful,  but  I  am  not  afraid  of  women,  so, 
though  I  trembled  some,  I  went  sturdily  on:  "If  you 
loved  Con  Murphy,  you  would  not  let  those  people  say 
he  was  a  coward  and  an  assassin;  then  Babe  has  treated 
you  nobly,  why  should  you  repay  her  by  letting  that 
crime  be  put  upon  her  father.  Prove  Con  Murphy's 
innocence." 

"  How  ?  "  in  a  queer,  constrained  voice. 


202  BABE  MURPHY. 

I  went  into  the  other  room  and  fetched  back  some- 
thing done  up  in  paper.  "By  telling  the  story  of  the 
murder  as  you  know  it,  as  Dick  Daggett  (like  all  women 
I  was  eager  to  drag  in  a  man  to  back  me  up)  says  you 
know,  and  soon  the  whole  town  will  find  out.  By 
explaining  how  this  glove  came  stained  with  powder 
and  blood,  Clara,  for  no  other  woman  I  ever  knew  but 
you  would  have  vanity  enough  to  put  on  gloves  and 
other  foolishness  when  she  was  eloping  and  like  to  get 
killed  any  moment/' 

"You  are  trying  hard  to  make  a  dangerous  enemy, 
Wilder." 

"Maybe,  but  I  come  of  good  fighting  stock  myself, 
my  men  relations  that  existed  before  I  did,  weremoctly 
drowned  fighting,  as  sailors  fight  the  sea,  or  on  battle 
fields,  beginning  with  the  Revolution;  they  wasn't  given 
to  dying  in  their  beds.  My  brother  Nathan  was  the 
meekest  of  the  lot,  and  I  suppose  he  had  skirmishes  with 
his  landlady,  to  judge  from  that  person's  letters,  that 
was  as  near  war  as  a  man  could  get  in  times  of  peace. 
I  have  a  suspicion,  my  lady,  that  you  went  back  for 
your  jewels  and  was  caught  by  Beach,  and  that  Jones 
knows  more  than  he  will  tell,  unless  he's  made  to." 

"  He  won't  be  made  to." 
'  Let  poverty  pinch  him  a  little  and  see." 

"I  shall  be  rich,  the  Colorado  law  gives  me  half  the 
property." 

"You  will  have  to  spend  most  of  it  in  hush  money 
and  be  eternally  dogged  by  the  men  you  paid  not  to  find 
you  here.     You  used  to  brag  how  brave  you  were,  and 


TEE  DEATH  OF  CON.  203 

yet,  loving  that  dead  man  out  on  the  hill  as  you  do,  you 
let  the  world  cry  him  down  and  heap  disgrace  on  his 
name." 

"What  would  you  have  me  do?" 

I  laid  my  hand  on  her  knee  and  looked  straight  in 
her  eyes:  "Go  tell  the  district  attorney  that  Beach's 
death  was  an  accident,  ask  for  a  trial,  take  Jones  with 
you,  and  tell  the  whole  story.  Hooper  whispered  to 
me,  Beach  was  shot  in  a  scuffle,  and  he  said  the  person 
who  fired  the  pistol  never  meant  to  kill." 

"  Let's  go  out  on  the  sands,"  she  said,  abruptly.  So 
we  went  along  by  the  sea  to  an  old  log,  a  gnarled  tree- 
trunk  that  had  floated  from  some  far  Pacific  isle,  hoary 
with  age  and  decay  before  some  storm  crashed  it  down, 
and  some  swollen  river  whirled  it  along  its  swift  current 
to  the  sea,  there  to  float  how  many,  many  years  before 
it  found  a  resting  place  in  this  far  land.  I  wasn't  given 
to  poetry,  but  that  log  suggested  queer  thoughts. 

"Jones  told  me  that  night,"  said  Mrs.  Beach,  sitting 
down  and  drawing  her  black  shawl  around  her.  "  In 
horrible  fear  I  got  together  all  my  things  that  I  wanted 
to  take,  sent  him  to  tell  Con,  and  then  ran  out  of  the 
house  before  Beach  came.  Outside,  hiding  in  the  trees, 
I  kept  thinking  of  things  I  ought  to  have  taken.  I  had 
my  diamond  earrings,  but  my  bracelets  and  pin  and 
fifty  dollars  in  money  were  in  my  safe.  I  knew  Con 
was  always  hard  up  and  that  we  should  need  all  the 
money  we  could  find  and  jewels  we  could  sell.  I  saw 
the  doctor  and  Beach  come,  watched  you  and  Babe,  and 
at  last  saw  the  doctor  go  away  with  you.      I  thought 


204  BABE  MURPHY. 

Beach  must  be  in  his  room,  possibly  given  some  opiate, 
so  I  told  Jones  to  follow  me,  and  we  climbed  up  the  porch 
to  my  room.  I  opened  the  long,  French  window  noise- 
lessly, and  crept  across  the  room.  I  never  lived  through 
such  fear  as  when  I  crossed  the  floor  in  the  darkness, 
thinking  that  man  might  be  crouching  to  spring  on  me, 
yet  you  say  I  am  not  brave.  When  I  lit  the  gas  - 
stumbled  over  a  chair,  and  the  slight  sound  seemed  to 
stop  the  beating  of  my  heart.  No  one  came,  and  I  went 
over  to  the  safe,  opened  it  with  the  key  I  always  carried 
in  my  pocket,  and  took  my  jewels,  wrapping  them  in  a 
handkerchief,  putting  them  in  the  bosom  of  my  gown. 
There  was  a  red  pocket-book  in  the  safe,  and  I  took  it 
to  see  if  it  held  money  or  anything  I  could  use.  It  was 
full  of  bills,  and  though  I  felt  mean  and  hateful  at 
stealing,  I  felt  it  was  the  last  I  would  ever  get  from  my 
husband,  and  I  had  given  him  live  years  of  my  life.  I 
don't  think  I  ever  was  honest  any  way.  I  stuffed  this 
money  into  my  dress  and  got  up  on  my  feet  with  a  kind 
of  elation  that  I  had  been  so  successful.  Oh,  my  God  ! 
the  horror  of  that  moment,  the  door  was  slowly  opening 
behind  me,  shutting  me  into  the  jog  beside  the  safe. 
Like  a  person  in  a  nightmare,  I  could  not  cry  out,  my 
lips  made  no  sound.  Into  my  heart  dawned  a  faint 
hope  he  would  look  in,  and,  not  seeing  any  one,  go 
away;  but  he  had  heard  the  noise  and  knew  I  was  there, 
lie  closed  the  door  and  looked  at  me  with  those  glassy 
eyes,  one  hand  tearing  at  his  bleeding  throat,  the  other 
holding  a  pistol.  His  gray  hair  was  all  disordered,  his 
coat  dusty,  covered  with  twigs  and  leaves  where  he  had 


THE  DEATH  OF  CON.  205 

fallen,  for  I  think  he  must  have  gone  out  around  the 
grounds  to  hunt  for  Con  or  me.  I  don't  think  I  cared 
after  the  first  shock,  I  wanted  to  die  and  end  those 
awful  moments  that  I  stood  there." 

"  '  I've  been  out  to  see  him/  lie  mumbled,  his  mouth 
working,  that  awful  hand  clutching.  '  You  were  rob- 
bing my  safe  for  him/ 

"'I  took  what  I  am  entitled  to:  you  robbed  him 
enough,  years  ago/ 

(i  •' I  could  not  find  him,'' he  said,  irritably,  and  then 
I  knew  that  my  husband  was  insane,  and  I  was  face  to 
face  with  a  madman.  '  There  seemed  to  be  people,  a  great 
many,  following  me  about,  but  not  him.  Strange! 
strange  V  He  stopped  and  looked  at  my  clothing  scat- 
tered about,  noted  I  had  my  cloak  and  hat  on,  then  he 
stepped  toward  me.  '  You  are  going  with  him?'  He 
reached  out  and  caught  my  shoulder,  and  I  could  not 
scream  nor  move.  Then,  there  was  a  sound,  I  know 
now  it  was  Jones,  creeping  away  in  the  darkness,  leav- 
ing me  to  my  fate,  but,  in  my  agony,  I  thought  it  was 
Con,  coming  to  save  me. 

"  'He  is  there  now/  yelled  the  madman,  and  leaped 
forward,  and  I,  given  a  strength  I  never  dreamed, 
made  desperate  by  my  love,  held  his  arm  that  clutched 
the  pistol,  and  clung  to  him.  I  tell  you,  I  was  blind:  I 
saw  nothing,  I  heard  nothing;  only  in  some  horrible  way 
I  thought  I  must  cling  to.him,  and  stop  what  he  meant  to 
do.  He  beat  me  away  from  him,  but  I  came  back  and  re- 
newed my  hold.  My  hands  were  gloved,  and  I  could  not 
retain  my  grasp.     Then  I  fell,  and  caught  his  knees, 


206  BABE  MrFPITT. 

holding  him  from  moving.  I  raised  myself,  and 
reached  for  the  pistol.  At  last  I  had  it,  if  it  was  to 
kill  me,  I  did  not  care.  There  was  an  awful  eras1  , 
seeming  in  my  very  face,  a  blinding  flash,  and  I  felt 
myself  freed,  while  he  fell  heavily  down  by  my  side. 
Jones  ran  in,  he  had  seen  the  struggle,  and  carried  me 
out,  and  I  tell  you  I  did  not  know  Beach  was  dead  ""ntil 
I  saw  it  in  the  paper. 

e<  Soon  after  that,  when  I  lay  on  the  ground,  and  Jones 
bathed  my  bleeding  face,  Con  whistled,  and  we  went  to 
meet  him.  He  asked  us  if  we  heard  a  shot,  and  we 
denied  it,  and  he  cried,  fiercely:  'I  hear  shots  every- 
where, I  must  be  going  mad.  I  never  felt  I  had  a  con- 
science before,  to  make  me  a  coward/  He  wondered 
afterward  what  made  me  so  bruised,  but  I  said  I  fell 
from  the  porch,  and  Jones  swore  I  did.  That  is  my 
story,  Wilder.  I  lived  through  that  and  Con's  death, 
and  must  finish  my  allotted  time,  for  I  am  too  guilty  a 
soul  to  commit  suicide. " 

"Then  give  your  years  to  others/'  I  said,  "have  you 
not  lived  for  self  long  enough,  and  have  you  not  been 
punished?  Your  first  step  to  better  things  will  be  to 
set  this  matter  right.  You  owe  something  to  my  dear 
girl,  surely  she  has  been  noble  and  good  to  you/' 

She  did  not  reply,  but  went  on  by  herself  to  the 
graveyard,  and  did  not  return  until  midnight.  Jones 
said,  he  often  saw  her  there,  lying  on  Con's  grave  late  at 
night,  at  a  time  when  I,  with  all  my  good,  common 
sense,  would  not  dare  invade  that  place,  nor  walk 
among    those    graves  with    their    strange   occupants. 


THE  DEATH  OF  CON.  207 

Early  in  the  morning  she  came  into  our  room,  and  woke 
me  up.  I  saw  she  was  dressed  for  traveling,  and  had 
a  set,  determined  look. 

"  I  am  going  to  Erin,  Wilder,"  she  said,  pitifully, 
"don't  get  up,  Mrs.  Jones  has  my  breakfast  ready, 
and  I  would  rather  be  alone.  I  shall  take  Lewis,  and 
set  matters  right,  even  if  it  goes  hard  with  me.  I  don't 
fancy  I  shall  ever  see  you  two  again.  You  don't  like 
me,  Babe,  but  I  am  doing  this  for  your  sake  and  his, 
my  dear  love's.  You  were  his  child,  and  have  a  like- 
ness to  him  that  softens  me  now,  and  he,  that  bonny 
face  hid  away  forever,  and  you,  and  the  rest  left  above 
ground,  and  you  a  link  with  him.  You  are  his  child 
and  I  love  him  in  you.  Show  me  some  kindness,  for  I 
am  giving  myself  up  to  justice  for  your  saKe." 

"For  the  love  you  bore  my  father," said  Babe,  sitting 
up  and  drawing  Clara  to  her,  "oh,  Clara,  if  it  could 
have  been  right  and  honest,  if  it  had  not  been  a  sin,  if 
you  were  not  married,  and  what  you  did  ruined  that 
poor  man's  life,  I  could  have  loved  you." 

She  laid  her  cheek  against  Babe's  with  one  of  her  rare 
caresses  that  I  never  saw  her  show  to  any  one  but  Con. 
"My  poor  husband  trusted  me  and  that  was  against 
your  sense  of  fairness,  Babe,  but  life  has  been  kinder  to 
you  than  to  me,  for  all  your  trials  in  the  past.  Tom 
will  be  good  to  you,  he  is  faithful  and  generous,  some 
day  you  two  will  meet  again,  the  happier  for  the  part- 
ing, and  your  life  will  run  in  pleasant  paths,  and  all 
you  know  of  me  will  make  you  gentler  and  more  tender 
to  the  girl  baby  that  may  lay  in  you  arms  some  day. 


208  BABE  MURPHY. 

You  look  at  me  with  his  dear  eyes — those  wide,  gray 
eyes,  and  almost  I  seem  to  see  his  old  expression,  as  if 
he  spoke  to  me  through  you.  Oh,  Babe,  Babe,  those  dear 
eyes  shut  forever  and  me — me  left  here  to  bear  all  the 
woe  and  loneliness.  Not  even  the  happiness  of  being 
where  he  lies.  Never  until  I  come  in  my  coffin  shall  I 
enter  this  far  country  where  he  left  me.     Good-bye." 

She  pressed  my  hand,  kissed  Babe  softly,  on  my  dear 
girl's  tear- wet  eyes,  and  then  went  away.  I  saw  her 
slight,  black  figure  cross  the  sands  to  the  graveyard, 
and  then  I  saw  her  no  more,  nor  ever  will  while  we 
walk  along  this  world  that  has  so  many  far  lands  where 
broken  hearts  may  hide. 

The  last  of  January  she  sent  us  a  slip  cut  from  a 
newspaper,  telling  about  her  trial  and  acquittal.  There 
was  a  mention  of  Con  Murphy,  too,  in  a  kindly  spirit. 
"The  discoverer  of  the  Maid  of  Erin  mine,  the  daring 
spirit  whose  energy  and  courage  had  opened  many  a 
region  in  the  mountains  considered  inaccessible,  who 
enriched  others,  failing  himself  by  some  strange  irony 
of  fortune  to  gather  the  fruit  of  his  discoveries.  In 
time,"  ran  the  article,  "he  will  only  be  remembered 
for  his  nobler  qualities,  that,  had  he  willed,  would  have 
given  him  an  honored  name  in  the  State,  and  positions 
of  trust  and  esteem  that  he,  with  his  education  and 
brilliancy,  was  qualified  to  fill." 

"I  am  going  to  Europe,"  Clara  wrote,  "I  shall  never 
return  to  America.  I  take  Lewis  with  me  and  my 
mother  also.  Miracle  of  miracles,  my  mother  met  me 
in  Erin,  looking  old  and  ill,  very  shabby,  too,  poor  soul. 


THE  DEATH  OF  CON.  209 

but  forgiving  and  kind.  She  blamed  herself,  and  has 
not  rebuked  me  once  nor  mentioned  that  sad  act  of 
mine,  that  now  I  see  more  clearly,  and  that  strikes  me 
to  the  heart  for  the  ruin  I  have  wrought.  I  shall  take 
care  of  her  and  keep  her  with  me,  so  you  see  this  pil- 
grim has  his  burden,  a  dreary,  gloomy,  old  woman. 
The  only  Delectable  mountain  for  me  in  this  world  is  a 
mound  in  that  seaport  town  where  some  day  I  shall  lie. 
You  have  known  one  woman  who  gave  all  and  lost  all 
for  love. 

"  I  did  my  best  for  Babe,  but  she  played  me  false, 
there  is  no  truth  in  any  woman  but  you,  Wilder,  you 
old  Bohemian,  with  your  New  England  conscience,  Con 
used  to  joke  about.  My  poor,  poor  Con,  how  merry 
he  was,  and  how  he  hated  shams  and  deceit,  and  how 
hard  I  tried  to  keep  him  in  Erin  when  he  would  have 
dragged  me  away,  long,  long  ago.  We  two,  Con  and  I, 
take  all  the  punishment;  Beach,  in  his  grave,  is  praised 
as  a  good  man,  and  a  public-spirited  citizen,  and  the 
other  things  they  say,  and  no  one  remembers  he  robbed 
poor  Con;  and  Babe  will  marry  Tom  and  be  happy  on 
her  ill-gotten  gains,  and  you,  too,  but,  after  all, 
Wilder,  you  have  a  good  heart.  I  take  olf  my  hat  to 
your  unobtrusive  excellence,  as  Con  used  to  say,  taking 
his  sombrero  off  behind  your  back;  then  we  would 
laugh;  and  I  did  laugh  once,  but  like  the  king,  I  shall 
never  smile  again.  You  told  me  once  an  avalanche 
would  come,  has  it  not?  and  I  bereft  of  all  I  loved, 
come  creeping  up,  after  it  has  passed,  crying  with  bit- 
ter anguish,  why  had  it  not  taken  me  into  oblivion  too. 
Farewell  you  prophet  and  thing  of  evil.  Clara." 


210  BABE  MURPHY. 

I  thought  of  her  sweet,  low  laugh  of  that  night  she 
said,  "you  wicked  Con/'  and  how  far  away  it  all  was, 
and  how  short  had  been  her  happiness  in  wrong  doing. 

"What  have  I  done,"  cried  Babe,  "and  where  are 
our  ill-gotten  gains?" 

"Our  property  is  about  the  same  as  we  set  out  with, 
my  dear,"  I  answered,  "let  us  not  worry  our  heads. 
That  poor  soul  is  most  crazed,  belike,  with  her  grief. 
It's  going  back  to  the  scene  of  a  crime  that  tells  on  one, 
and  she  has  been  dreadfully  tried." 

Thus  after  that  we  spoke  of  her  with  pity  and  for- 
giveness and  prayed  some  day  her  weary  heart  might 
find  peace  and  comfort  in  well-doing  and  charity,  and 
that  she  would  forget  herself  and  live  for  others.  That 
is  the  only  sincere  repentance  in  this  world. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE   COLONEL  EXPECTS   COMPANY. 

And  now  my  dear  girl  and  I  saw  many  peaceful  and 
happy  days,  we  decided  to  spend  the  winter  in  Corpus 
Christi,  for  the  weather  was  so  fine  there,  and  traveling 
expensive,  besides  Mrs.  Jones  let  us  the  cottage  very 
cheap.  She  stayed  to  cook  for  us,  liked  Babe  mightily, 
and,  barring  a  gloomy  turn  of  mind,  was  a  good,  old  soul. 
Babe  went  to  church  with  her  once  in  a  while,  helped 
her  about  the  work,  and  was  so  bright  and  lively, 
Drinda  was  never  tired  of  singing  her  praises.  To  help 
our  limited  income,  I  took  in  sewing,  being  always 
handy  with  my  needle,  and  Babe  helped  me,  running 
the  machine  all  day,  and  resting  up  at  night  with  a 
walk  on  the  beach.  Everybody  called  her  Miss  Wil- 
der, too,  and  I  thought  it  much  better,  and,  dear  me, 
how  nice  it  was  to  be  independent,  and  to  live  among 
good  folks,  out  of  the  path  of  avalanches.  We  seldom 
saw  a  newspaper,  but  read  good  books  and  felt  like  two 
old,  storm-tossed  mariners,  in  a  sheltered,  winter  harbor. 
We  went  to  the  graveyard,  once  in  a  while,  and  talked 
of  Murphy,  kindly  and  pityingly,  remembering  the 
good  in  him,  never  the  evil,  as  should  be  done  to  dead 
folks,  that  are  not  here  to  defend  themselves.     We  got 

acquainted  some  in  the  town,  and  went  to  a  few  church 

211 


212  BABE  MURPHY. 

sociables,  and  such  village  happenings,  but  not  very 
often.  A  pleasant  surprise  in  April,  was  our  kind 
Colonel  walking  in  one  day,  very  glad  to  see  us,  and  eager 
to  make  our  life  more  pleasant. 

After  that  we  often  visited  the  big  house  on  the  hill; 
such  a  beautiful  place,  standing  on  a  high  bluff  looking 
seaward,  and  all  bowered  in  roses  and  jessamine,  and 
shaded  by  fine  trees.  There  was  a  shadow  over  the 
house,  two  portraits  on  the  wall,  a  mother's  and  a 
daughter's,  and  they  were  both  such  fair,  sweet  faces,  I 
could  understand  the  Colonel's  long  mourning,  that 
would  last  to  his  grave.  I  thought  it  hurt  him  when 
he  begged  Babe  to  open  the  piano  and  play,  but  after 
awhile  she  did,  picking  up  the  music  she  had  been 
taught  at  the  convent,  and  playing  simple  pieces  with 
much  taste  and  feeling.  We  indulged  in  a  game  of 
poker  now  and  then  with  the  Colonel  and  a  burly 
captain,  stranded  on  the  coast,  and  though  we  did  not 
play  for  money,  the  game  was  jolly  enough,  and  I 
found  myself  quite  proficient.  When  the  Colonel  got 
sick,  Babe  went  up  and  took  care  of  him  and  read  to 
him  the  slow  days  of  his  convalescence.  I  wondered, 
sometimes,  if  he  would  fall  in  love  with  her,  I  would  get 
angry  at  the  very  idea,  but  you  see  I  did  not  know  a 
Texas  colonel. 

In  May,  when  all  that  great  State  is  carpeted  with 
flowers,  is  gorgeous,  like  the  kings  of  old,  in  scarlet  and 
purple  and  gold,  I  felt  again  1  was  in  Paradise.  Life 
awoke  in  the  tropic  forests,  the  streams  were  deep  and 
rapid,  the  birds  sang  in  the  thick  foliage,  over  wide 


THE  COLONEL  EXPECTS  COMPANY.  213 

fields  crept  the  tiny  cotton  plants  or  the  rich  meadow 
grass,  and  cattle,  sleek  and  fat,  with  silky  coats,  roamed 
on  a  thousand  plains.  The  whole  air  was  full  of  sun- 
shine and  laughter  of  birds,  and  the  joy  of  living  things, 
human  or  insect,  or  beasts.  And,  speaking  of  beasts, 
I  came  very  near  calling  our  Colonel  one,  in  my  viper- 
ous way,  when  he  asked  me  if  I  thought  Miss  Diana 
would  live  single  always,  and  did  I  not  fear  to  lose  her? 
I  thought  he  was  going  to  ask  me  if  she  would  have 
him,  and  at  the  idea,  my  soul  revolted;  no  more  ill-as- 
sorted unions  in  my  life. 

"She  is  engaged  to  a  young  man/'  I  said,  stiffly, 
"  thinks  the  world  of  him,  and  will  marry  him  when  their 
circumstances  warrant." 

"Indeed,"  he  muttered,  "I  wish  I  had  known  that, 
I  am  very  sorry." 

He  never  mentioned  the  subject  again,  but  I  saw  he 
looked  at  her  with  a  new  and  tender  interest  in  his  kind 
eyes,  and  was  probably  planning  how  he  could  help  her 
to  her  happiness. 

One  night,  after  a  walk  across  the  sands,  we  wTent  on 
up  to  the  Colonel's  house,  he  was  sitting  on  the  porch, 
but  the  house  was  all  lit  up  and  had  a  holiday  air.  I 
surmised,  at  the  start,  he  was  expecting  company,  and 
was  sure  of  it,  when  I  saw  through  one  of  the  windows, 
the  dinner  table  laid  for  two. 

"  You  are  expecting  company,  Colonel  Latham,"  I 
said,  "and,  as  we  only  ran  up  for  a  moment,  Babe,  to 
get  that  book  you  were  speaking  of,  I  think  we  must 
be  going." 


214  BABE  MURPIIY. 

"  Not  for  the  world,  Miss  Wilder, "  he  said,  in  great 
distress,  "I  wanted  yon  to  meet  my  young  friend,  and 
Miss  Diana,  here"  —  standing  at  her  side  and  looking 
very  kindly  on  her — "I  wanted  her,  especially,  to  meet 
my  guest.  Like  most  silly,  old  men,  I  am  a  sort  of 
match-maker.  I  had  a  plan  about  her,  which  you,  Miss 
Wilder,  dispelled." 

"What  did  she  tell  you?"  asked  Babe,  blushing 
prettily.  "  Something  to  make  you  think  less  of  me, 
Colonel?" 

"  To  think  more  of  you,  my  dear,  and  to  hope  most 
earnestly  your  little  romance  will  end  happily.  You 
must  tell  me  all  about  it  some  day,  and,  perhaps,  I  can 
aid  the  young  man;  I  would  be  so  glad  to." 

He  went  and  picked  her  a  handful  of  cape  jessamine, 
and  handed  it  to  her  with  stately  courtesy,  watching, 
while  she  pinned  them  on  the  breast  of  her  white  gown, 
with  pleased  admiration.  I  looked  at  her  a  moment, 
understanding  well  why  any  man's  gaze  should  rest  on 
her.  She  appears  her  best  in  white  gowns,  made  with 
severe  classic  folds;  she  has  filled  out  a  bit,  too,  and 
grown  more  womanly,  has  less  angles.  Her  wide,  gray 
eyes  still  look  wistful  and  waiting,  but  that  sort  of 
pathetic  expression  gives  a  wondrous  charm  to  her 
sweet  face.  She  is  very  rosy  now,  and  the  dimple  in 
her  left  cheek  is  quite  apparent,  and  she  always  had  the 
most  kissable  mouth  I  ever  saw  on  a  woman.  Am  I  a 
silly,  old  creature  to  rave  over  her?  I  don't  know. 
I  never  had  any  beauty,  nor  saw  much  beyond  that 
fragile,  delicate  bloom  of  youth,  so  fair  in  our  young 


THE  COLONEL  EXPECTS  COMPANY.  215 

girls  at  home,  but  so  quick  to  fade.  With  Babe,  her 
beauty  grows  each  year;  if  she  had  homely  features  I 
would  still  adore  her  for  the  beauty  of  the  soul  in  her 
eyes,  and  the  sweetness  of  her  disposition  and  her 
noble  patience.  You  are  worthy  my  life's  devotion, 
my  dear,  and  it  is  my  happiest  remembrance  that  in  my 
poor  way  I  made  your  life  better  and  more  rounded, 
and  helped  you  to  your  high  pedestal  of  noble  woman- 
hood. 

"The  carriage  went  an  hour  ago,"  said  the  Colonel, 
peering  down  the  street,  "  but  sometimes  the  train  is 
very  late.     Ha,  there  are  the  wheels!" 

"We  will  only  be  introduced,  then  run  away,"  said 
Babe,  coming  out  with  the  book,  leaving  the  hall  door 
open  behind  her,  and  standing  there  in  the  light,  looking 
like  a  beautiful  spirit.  The  Colonel  went  dowTn  and 
opened  the  carriage  door.  "Ah,  Thomas,0  I  heard 
him  say,  but  his  guest  made  one  leap  out  of  the  car- 
riage, passed  him  without  a  word,  and  ran  up  the  steps, 
two  at  a  time. 

"My  darling,  my  darling,"  he  cried,  in  his  eager 
voice,  the  dear,  impetuous  boy,  hugging  her  as  if  it  had 
been  years  instead  of  months,  since  he  saw  her  last, 
and  forgetting  we  were  looking,  or  that  any  body  lived 
in  this  world  but  the  woman  he  loved  and  he,  who  had 
found  her. 

"I  knew  you  would  come,"  she  sobbed,  with  one  of 
those  passionate  gusts  of  tears. 

"Drive  to  the  barn,"  commanded  the  Colonel, 
sternly,  much  upset  because  the  coachman,   a  white- 


cio  BABS  vr!;rnv. 

headed  old  darky,  was  looking  at  the  scene  with  intense 
enjoyment.  "  Ponce,  1  am  surprised  at  yon.  I 
infer.  Miss  Wilder,**  he   said,  joining  me   and  robbing 

his  hands  excitedly,  "that  Thomas  knows  our  young 
lady:-- 

1  giggled  rudely.  "I  should  hope  so.  Colonel,  that 
would  be  a  singular  way  of  meeting  her  if  he  didn't. 
Why,  he  is  the  one." 

••  Is  it  possible,  possible?"  rubbing  his  forehead  in  a 

ted  way.  ••  Why,  1  had  him  come  here  to  meet  her; 
that  was  the  match  I  hoped  for,  and  after  I  had  sent  for 
him  I  learned  from  you  that  she  was  engaged.  It  was 
too  late  to  undo  what  1  had  done,  but  never  did  I 
imagine  what  a  meeting  it  would  be.  and  that  I  could 
e  my  dear,  young  lady  such  happiness  as  this.  Ah. 
youth  is  the  time  for  love,  is  it  not:  " 

••  Yes,"  I  answered,  sadly,  for  once  in  a  while  a  ghost 
comes  from  the  tishing banks  of  Newfoundland,  a  jolly, 
curly-haired  ghost  that  used  to  call  me  Xan,  and  tell 
me  I  was  the  only  girl  he  could  ever  love,  and  make  me 
feel    I  was  somebody,  as  a  lover  will.     I  wonder  if  I 

old  have  been  happy  married  to  him.  if  I  would  have 
been  a  good  wife,  a  loving  mother?  Perhaps  not.  and 
it  is  best  my  romance  is  only  a  faint  memory,  but  still, 
I  feel  I  have  been  cheated  out  of  something.  And 
here  1  ramble  on.  a  faded,  old  maid,  with  corkscrew 
curls,  and  the  waves  have  been  rolling  over  Captain 
Md  these  thirty  years  and  more.     I  saw  the  Colonel 

into  the  parlor  with  his  stiff,  soldierly  walk,  and 
ad  there  beneath  a  portrait,  the  light  falling  on  his 


THE  COLONEL  EXPECTS  COMPANY.  217 

bowed  head  and  melancholy  face  with  the  weary  eyes. 

I  thought  there  is  nothing  in  this  world  so  beautiful 
as  the  love  of  true  husband  and  true  wife.  I  had  seen, 
and  was  sadly  grieved  at  that  other  sinful  love.  I 
wanted  the  pure  spring  of  affection,  no  more  dark 
streams  of  vice.  In  this  world  we  must  live  up  to  some- 
thing better  than  our  human  lives,  and  the  tried  and 
steadfast  affection  of  a  lifetime  is  the  best  thing  I  have 
seen,  and  the  only  thing  that  endures  and  leaves  fragrant 
memories  behind  it. 

"  Get  plates  for  four,"  ordered  the  Colonel,  opening 
the  dining-room  door  as  the  servants  were  bringing  in 
dinner,  and,  as  some  demur  arose  as  to  the  quantity 
cooked,  he  finished  with  great  solemnity,  "put  every- 
thing in  the  house  on  the  table  then." 

"  You  kindest  and  best  of  men,"  said  Ballinger,  going 
up  to  him,  "I  never  acted  quite  so  rude  before,  don't 
think  I  spoke  to  you  at  all;  but  she  was  there,  Colonel, 
and  I  have  not  seen  her  for  so  long,  and  it  was  such  a 
surprise;  and  isn't  she  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world? 
Why,  there  you  are,  Miss  Wilder,  and  how  good  you 
have  been  to  her,  sticking  by  her  always. "  Then  he  made 
a  grab  at  me  and  fairly  kissed  my  breath  away,  '"'Gracious, 
am  I  dreaming,  is  it  real?"  he  went  on,  his  lips  trem- 
bling under  that  faded  moustache,  ever  so  much  lightei 
than  his  skin  with  the  new  bronze  on  it,  "it  don't  seem 
possible  Fve  struck  such  a  streak  of  luck. 

"  You  are  quite  awake,  Thomas,"  beamed  the  Colonel, 
patting  Ballinger's  shoulder,  "'are  you  sufficiently  rested 
to  sit  down  to  dinner?" 


218  BABE  MURPHY. 

"Must  brush  the  dust  off  first;  same  room,  I  suppose? 
Oh,  I  say,  Colonel,  don't  let  her  fly  away  while  I'm 
gone;  don't  let  her  out  of  your  sight." 

"He  has  taken  care  of  me/'  said  Babe,  very  blushing 
and  smiling,  her  eyes  beaming  with  happiness. 

"And  he  always  will,"  said  the  Colonel.  "  I  think  a 
great  deal  of  Thomas,  also,  his  mother  and  I  were  old, 
old  friends,  and  no  one  in  this  world  could  be  more 
delighted  with  his  choice  than  myself." 

Babe's  bright  face  did  not  cloud  at  the  mention  of 
his  mother's  name,  she  did  not  care  for  the  future  now, 
her  joy  was  all  in  the  present.  She  did  not  eat  any- 
thing at  the  table,  looking  at  Ballinger  all  the  time  with 
eager  e3'es,  noting,  as  women  do,  the  little  changes  in 
his  looks  and  manner.  I  must  say  he  had  a  fair  appe- 
tite, but  still  he  couldn't  keep  his  eyes  off  her.  The 
Colonel  and  I,  however,  ate  a  good  meal,  as  elderly  folks 
will  when  everything  is  nice  and  excellently  served. 

After  dinner  the  Colonel  would  have  given  up  the 
porch  to  the  young  folks,  and  was  trying  to  inveigle  me 
in  to  look  at  an  album,  when  Ballinger  took  hold  of  his 
arm  and  got  him  a  chair  outside.  Then  he  went  and 
got  one  for  me.  "I  want  to  have  a  family  talk,"  he 
said,  "and  we'll  all  be  real  comfortable  about  it."  I 
thought  he  was  particularly  so,  sitting  beside  Babe  on 
the  settee  and  stealing  his  hand  into  hers,  thinking  no 
one  could  see  in  the  darkness.  Then,  with  a  curious 
hesitancy,  he  began  and  told  the  Colonel  Babe's  history. 

"Why  do  you  tell  him  about  me,"  she  said,  piteously, 
"he  is  different."     I  knew  she  was  thinking  of  the  fair, 


THE  COLONEL  EXPECTS  COMPANY.  219 

dead  girl,  and  how  innocent  and  sheltered  that  pure 
life  had  been,  how  vastly  distinct  from  a  childhood  and 
girlhood  in  a  mining  camp.  He  stooped  and  patted 
her  hand  softly. 

"  Do  not  misjudge  me,  my  dear  child,"  he  said,  ear- 
nestly. "1  am  too  old  a  soldier  not  to  reverence  those 
who  have  acquitted  themselves  nobly  in  the  battle  of 
life." 

"When  I  met  you  in  Denver,"  continued  Ballinger, 
"  I  had  just  left  her,  hating  my  cowardly  self,  and  un- 
able to  do  anything  to  get  my  self-respect  back.  You 
saw  I  was  in  trouble,  and  wanted  to  work  out  the  prob- 
lem of  earning  a  living,  and  you  gave  me  a  chance  in 
that  mine  in  Mexico,  money  to  go,  and  promised  to 
keep  my  hiding  place  a  secret  from  my  mother.  I 
worked  hard  all  that  fall  and  winter,  saving  my  money 
with  only  one  object — to  get  my  dear  girl  when  I  could 
keep  her  from  want.  Then  you  wrote  me  to  come 
here,  you  sly  colonel,  thinking  I  might  fall  in  love  with 
Babe,  as  I  should  if  I  had  not  already.  I.  had  money 
enough  saved  for  my  purpose,  and  I  meant  to  ask  your 
aid  to  find  her.  In  January  T  wrote  to  Martin,  and  got 
answer  that  Murphy,  Mrs.  Beach  and  Miss  Wilder  and 
Di,  were  all  gone,  no  one  knew  where,  and,  sick  at  heart, 
I  kept  to  my  work,  for,  suffer  as  I  did,  I  had  to  have 
funds,  and,  I  believe,  half  the  tragedies  in  this  world 
come  from  want  of  money,  to  go  away,  or  to  go  find 
some  one  we  love,  and  I  can  tell  you,  all  the  cash  I'd 
wasted  used  to  haunt  me.  Do  you  wonder  I  could  not 
think   of  anything  but  her  when  I  saw  her  on  your 


220  BABE  MURPHY. 

steps,  looking  like  an  angel,  in  that  white  gown,  standing 
in  the  light?  And  then  I  am  free  now,  for  m)7  mother 
wrote  me  to  marry  any  one  I  pleased;  Clara's  marriage 
had  decided  her  not  to  interfere  with  any  match;  but  if 
I  married  without  her  consent,  she  should  reserve  the 
right  to  disinherit  me  and  leave  her  money  to  institu- 
tions where  the  offspring  of  unhappy  and  mismated 
people  had  to  seek  refuge.  When  you  forwarded  that 
letter,  Colonel,  telling  her,  I  suppose,  you  knew  where  I 
was,  to  save  her  worry,  I  just  laughed.  I  guess  I  can 
look  after  the  offspring,  I  said,  and  the  poor,  dear  old 
mother  some  day  will  forgive  me.  The  awful  dignity  of 
that  threat  shows  she  worked  over  the  letter  a  good 
while,  and  pictured  to  herself  what  sort  of  a  wife  I  should 
marry;  for  I  wrote  her  how  lovely  you  were,  and  ended, 
I  know,  by  a  good  motherly  desire  to  meddle  and  to 
scare  me  into  letting  her.  I  shall  be  married  a  week 
from  to-night;  my  savings  will  come  in  handy  to  get  us 
some  trash  to  start  with,  and  Babe  don't  need  any  fix- 
ings-up  in  that  Mexican  country — it's  too  warm  for 
frills." 

The  Colonel,  who  had  writhed  at  the  mention  of  Mrs. 
Howard's  letter  and  the  refuge,  now  brightened  up. 

li  I  think,  you  are  right,  Thomas,  is  he  not  Mis? 
Wilder?  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Howard  will  love  this  young 
lady  some  day,  and  I  think  it  wise  not  to  put  off  the 
present  happiness.  Life  is,  at  best,  so  sadly  incomplete, 
so  short." 

"Di  can't  object,"  said  Ballinger,  "for  I  have  the 
stronger  will,  and  we  are  all  against  her.    She  can't  say 


THE  COLON-EL  EXPECTS  COMPANY.  221 

no;  look  how  miserable  she  was  before  I  came,  and  how 
rosy  and  happy  now.  Why!  it's  just  wicked  to  fool  with 
fate,  besides,  I  shan't  take  any  more  chances.  I've  got 
her,  and  mean  to  keep  her,  and  you  too,  Miss  Wilder, 
you  needn't  look  glum,  we've  got  to  have  you.  We 
want  you  to  help  bring  up  those  offspring  into  the  paths 
of  proper  young  ladyhood,  as  you  taught  that  Maid 
of  Erin,  and  to  keep  them  out  of  institutions." 

The  Colonel  looked  a  bit  shocked.  Dear  me!  Young 
America  is  different.  Let  him  live  in  a  bran-new 
country,  like  Colorado,  a  while,  and  he  won't  be  so  pre- 
cise. Manners  like  his  went  out  with  the  minuet.  Yet, 
after  all,  that  old- fashioned  delicacy  of  speech  and  senti- 
ment is  very  pretty  to  see,  and  one  feels  better  and  of 
more  importance  in  his  company.  The  chivalry  of  men 
is  dying  out,  forced  away  by  the  rising  of  womankind. 
Just  now  there  are  queer  divisions  in  our  human  affairs; 
some  women  who  shut  themselves  in  to  a  narrow  circle 
of  life  and  ideas,  and  others  who  go  too  far  outside,  but 
the  latter  give  me  the  most  hope  for  women's  future. 
They  may  be  unladylike,  may  even  go  wrong,  may  be 
rude  and  ugly  to  men,  but  they  are  the  first  wave  in  the 
tide  of  progress.  The  time  comes  when  women  must 
work  as  men,  side  by  side,  and,  in  some  future  day,  both 
must  regard  each  other  with  a  courteous  fairness,  the 
women  expecting  nothing  beyond  ordinary  courtesy 
from  men,  and  the  men  looking  upon  women  as  fellow- 
workers,  not  to  be  guarded  and  protected,  but  treated 
civil  and  kind.  These  poor  waifs  and  strays  are  the  be- 
ginning, they  are  loud  and  blatant  now,  or  they  are  vin- 


222  »        BABE  MURPHY. 

dictive,  struggling  for  the  same  pay  and  privilege  as 
men,  but  they  are  all  pioneers,  and  my  blessing  go  with 
them.  I  hope  the  time  will  be  near,  when  women's 
work  shall  be  faithful  and  well  done,  and  women's  faces 
wear  no  longer  a  stamp  of  idle  sin,  or  narrow  intelli- 
gence and  silly  vanity. 

The  walk  homeward  across  the  sands  was  a  happy 
one  to  us  all.  The  Colonel  and  I  went  soberly  along 
discoursing  on  the  tariff,  the  climate  of  Texas,  the 
Maine  ice  crop,  and  the  prospect  of  deep  water  off  Ar- 
ansas pass;  but  no  such  talk  occupied  the  young  couple 
ahead.  As  they  went  I  saw  her  head  droop  almost  to 
his  shoulder,  and  his  arms  clasp  her  waist. 

Oh,  rare  moments  in  life,  when  love  is  young,  and 
the  world  is  fair!  Run  slowly,  oh,  golden  sands  of  time, 
and  you  grim,  old  reaper,  pass  them  by!  Give  them 
their  fill  of  love  and  sunshine,  for  the  waiting  was  weary, 
and  they  are  worthy  of  thy  kindness.  Let  the  hours  of 
happiness  linger,  and  give  them  long  life;  for  their  love 
shall  endure  to  the  end! 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A   LOOKER-OX   IN   VIENNA. 

While  looking  over  some  old  papers  to  aid  me  in  my 
story,  I  found  a  diary  of  mine  where,  in  my  Boswell  sort 
of  way,  to  my  dear  Doctor  Johnson  (a  feminine  one),  I 
came  across  my  account  of  Babe's  wedding.  It  is  none 
the  less  interesting,  because  they  have  now  been  married 
some  years,  and  are  happy  in  the  usual  commonplace 
way  of  wedded  folks.  I  fancy  if  this  were  a  composi- 
tion I  should  mark  it  seven  per  cent.,  though  goodness 
knows  why  not  ten.  I  think,  as  I  often  did  about  my 
scholars'  compositions,  they  all  ought  to  be  marked 
according  to  ability  given  each,  not  the  merit  of  the 
work  itself.  And,  dear  me,  in  all  that  long  procession 
of  children  who  have  passed  before  me  with  their  grimy 
papers  all  blotted  and  creased  with  eager  work,  I  never 
snared  one  germ  of  bright  thought  or  one  bud  of  open- 
ing genius.  Well,  here  is  my  poor  account  of  the  cere- 
mony where  I  officiated,  as  Tom  says,  as  chief  mourner: 

"June  18,  188 — .  Such  a  lovely  day  this  has  been; 
the  sky  absolutely  cloudless,  the  sea  a  great  azure,  daz- 
zling stretch  of  waving  sunshine.  My  dear  girl  woke 
me  early  with  her  usual  hug." 

"You  precious  dear/' she  said,   holding   me   in  her 

strong,  young  arms,  "never  think  I  don't  love  you   as 

much  and  more  than  I  ever  did,    and  swear  you   will 

always  live  with  me." 

223 


224  BABE  MUBPT7Y. 

"Men  don't  like  a  third  party,  a  meddlesome,  old 
maid/'  I  cautioned. 

"Tom  thinks  the  world  of  yon,  and  he  will  do  just 
what  I  tell  him." 

"  He'll  be  the  first  man  then,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "  but 
Fll  stop  till  he  drives  me  out." 

We  got  up  and  dressed  then,  Babe  in  a  pink  wrapper, 
her  hair  carelessly  knotted  in  her  neck,  and  me  in  my 
black  muslin,  seeing  its  third  summer.  Drinda  had  a 
fine  breakfast  for  us — red  fish  from  the  gulf,  graham 
muffins  and  strawberries.  I  heard  her  singing  a  cheer- 
ful Jordany  hymn,  which  means  she  is  pleased,  in 
fact,  I  had  not  heard  her  favorite  one  on  the  judgment 
day  for  a  whole  week.  She  watched  us  eat,  with  many 
'  bress  de  Lawds,'  standing  with  her  hands  on  her  com- 
fortable hips  and  looking  at  Babe  with  pleased  interest. 
No  matter  how  old  or  how  black  we  are,  we  women  do 
love  to  see  a  wedding  and  to  know  all  about  the  parties 
concerned,  and  to  bother  over  the  details  and  out  of 
the  ordinary  cares  it  calls  for.  After  breakfast  Babe 
and  I  tidied  up  the  sitting-room  and  the  bedroom  facing 
the  sea.  I  had  taken  a  little,  back  chamber,  its  window 
looking  upon  the  sand. 

"I  like  it  best,"  I  explained,  when  Babe  expostulated 
with  me  for  giving  up  the  best,  "  the  sea  makes  me  feel 
creepy  (which  it  didn't  at  all)  and  then  you  know  a 
man  wants  lots  of  room  to  move  'round  in."  She 
blushed  as  usual,  and  went  away  from  my  teasing.  She 
did  not  have  any  trousseau,  but  the  Colonel  insisted  on 
sending  to  Galveston  for  the  wedding  gown.     I  got   an 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN  VIENNA.  225 

old  basque  of  hers  for  a  model,  and  he  telegraphed  the 
work  must  be  done  as  soon  as  possible.  It  came  the 
night  before  and  we  had  admired  it  enough  to  satisfy 
any  generous  giver.  It  was  a  sort  of  creamy,  thick, 
ribbed  silk,  very  soft  and  pliant,  made  much  better  than 
I  could  do,  having  a  style  a  professional  only  can  give. 
It  needed  some  trimming  to  set  it  off,  I  thought,  "  a 
lace  flounce,"  I  suggested. 

(i  I  think  it  lovely  enough,  I  never  did  like  mussy 
clothes/'  she  said,  happily,  "  and  then  you  know  I  shall 
have  flowers." 

A  rap  at  the  door  sort  of  startled  me,  but  there  was 
only  a  small  boy  with  a  basket  of  flowers  from  his  ma, 
with  her  compliments,  and  he  had  no  sooner  gone  than 
a  red-bearded  man  brought  a  bouquet,  from  his  wife;  and 
as  we  were  in  the  land  of  flowers  and  generous  hearts, 
the  ten  different  calls  we  had  with  floral  offerings  seemed 
sort  of  natural  and  expected  after  all.  The  last  knock 
was  made  by  the  grimy  and  warty  hand  of  a  small, 
freckled  boy. 

"  Ma  says  she'd  sent  more,"  he  grinned,  handing  me 
a  bouquet,  "  but  they're  usin'  'em  over  to  the  church." 

"Well,  indeed,"  I  says,  "  what  for?" 

"  Huh,  for  her  gittin'  married,  you  bet  we  'uns  is  all 
gwine  ter  be  there." 

"  You  are  awful  good  down  here,"  I  said. 

"You  'uns  don't  know  us  Texas  folks,"  he  grins  and 
scampered  off. 

Babe  had  just  finished  arranging  the  flowers  when  the 
Colonel  came,  followed  by  Ponce  carrying  a  small  par- 


226  BABE  MURPHY. 

eel.  The  dear  man  stalked  in  with  that  stiff  way,  to 
say  my  girl  was  a  rose  among  roses,  and  to  shake  my 
hand  very  warmly.  Then  he  wanted  to  see  the  wedding 
gown,  if  we  did  not  object.  "It  had  been  a  long  time," 
he  smiled,  sadly,  when  he  said  it,  "since  a  gown  had 
interested  him  so  much."  He  thought  Mrs.  Latham's 
wedding  dress  was  a  white  brocade.  Ponce  confirmed 
this  with  some  details  of  the  event,  the  Colonel  cough- 
ing slightly  at  the  reminiscence.  Babe  brought  out  the 
gown,  and  then  he  undid  the  tissue  paper  around  a  roll 
of  beautiful  old  lace. 

"I  brought  you  this,  my  dear,  a  heirloom  in  my  fam- 
ily. I  want  you  to  accept  it.  It  is  point  and  of  a  fine 
pattern.  My  womenkind  prized  it  highly.  I  have  no 
one  to  value  it  now  but  you,  my  young  friend,  who  has 
made  many  of  my  lonely  hours  bright  and  happy  by 
your  kindness." 

"My  dear  friend,"  she  said,  brokenly,  and  then  in 
her  own,  impetuous  way,  caught  his  hand  and  laid  it 
against  her  soft  cheek. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  much  shocked. 

"Kiss  my  lips,  then,"  she  said,  that  graceless  girl, 
and  no  man  could  resist  that  sweet,  blushing  face,  least 
of  all  a  Texas  colonel.  They  made  a  pretty  picture, 
too,  he  so  stately  and  dignified,  his  very  caress  as  sol- 
emn as  a  benediction,  she  blushing  and  radiant,  the 
flowers  everywhere,  the  wedding  gown  lying  across  a 
chair,  and  Ponce  and  I  looking  on  for  a  background. 
I  went  in  the  bedroom  to  sew  the  lace  on  the  gown,  and 
she  followed  me  in  a  moment,  holding  a  little  box. 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN  VIENNA.  227 

• 

"The  Colonel's  wedding  gift,"  she  stammered, 
"ought  I  to  take  so  much  from  him,  and  are  they  not 
beautiful?"  She  held  out  a  set  of  pearls,  ear  drops  and 
pin,  and  though  I  know  very  little  about  jewels  I  could 
see  these  were  rare  and  costly. 

"He  says,"  cried  Babe,  "he  thought  they  would 
become  me  best,  says,  after  what  he  knows  of  my  life, 
that  I  am  as  pure  and  fair." 

"You  would  hurt  him  more  to  refuse  them,  my 
dear,"  I  said.  The  Colonel  would  not  have  peeped  in 
that  bedroom  for  the  world,  though  I  know  he  wanted 
to  hear  my  opinion,  that  stately  delicacy  of  his  seemed 
to  shut  him  out  from  common  folks. 

"He  wants  to  seethe  dress  on,  Ann,  is  it  bad  luck?'' 

"  Land,  no,  child,  it's  got  to  go  on,  anyway,  so  I  can 
drape  the  lace.  So  shut  the  door  and  I'll  help  you." 
If  ever  I  saw  a  girl,  if  I  may  use  an  odd  term,  blossom 
into  beauty,  it  was  Babe  in  that  white  silk.  Clothes  do 
make  a  difference,  and  that  is  where  poverty  cuts  the 
most.  Don't  we  all  want  to  look  nice  and  have  pretty 
things  about  us,  and  isn't  having  to  buy  at  cheap  stores 
and  wearing  cheap  ill-fitting  gowns  enough  to  sour  the 
sweetest  temper?  She  put  the  pearls  on  while  I  fixed 
the  lace  in  the  neck  of  her  gown.  "That  was  cut 
rather  low  in  the  neck,  my  dear,  that  square,  and  if  I 
must  say  it,  you  ain't  built  for  that  fashion." 

"  Heroines  in  books  always  have  such  beautiful 
necks,"  sighed  Babe,  "and  though  I  never  cared  before, 
I  do  wish  nature  hadn't  been  so  prodigal  in  giving  me 
collar  bones.  Still,  like  all  lean  people,  I  can  deserve  a 
reputation  for  extreme  modesty." 


228  BABE  MURPHY. 

m 

"That's  the  result  of  those  French  books,  Miss/' I 
said,  severely,  "  your  talk  is  trifling,  but  really  you  are 
not  matured  yet,  you  may  fill  out  and  be  a  fine  figure 
of  a  woman.  You  never  will  be  dumpy,  and  that's 
what  scared  me  all  my  life,  fat  dumpiness,  but  I  guess 
I'm  safe  now." 

I  saw  a  flash  of  color  flood  her  face  at  that  moment. 
"  H'm,  he's  come,  has  he?  You  needn't  be  so  upset, 
you  were  hoping  he  would,  and  see  you  all  fixed  up, 
Miss  Vanity." 

"  You  mean,  old  mind-reader,"  she  laughed,  and  that 
dimple  came  into  her  cheek  and  stayed  there,  with  a 
little  tremulous  smile  on  her  pretty  mouth. 

"  Did  you  make  that  dimple  with  a  slate  pencil?"  I 
said,  patting  her  cheek. 

"It  just  growed  like  Topsv."  I  opened  the  door 
and  she  swept,  as  the  books  say,  into  the  room,  and  the 
swish  of  a  silken  train  is  a  pleasant  sound  to  my  ears, 
old  as  I  am,  and  I  do  love  to  feel  dressed  up.  "How 
does  she  look?"  I  said.  Ballinger  was  standing  by  the 
window,  a  big  bunch  of  cape  jessamine  in  his  hand. 

"Charming,  beautiful,"  said  the  Colonel,  "and  the 
lace  is  an  improvement?  I  trust,  Miss  Wilder,  as  you 
ladies  say,  the  fit  is  satisfactory." 

"Sets  like  a  duck's  bill,  the  lace  is  elegant,  and  those 
pearls  the  most  fitting  for  her  to  wear,  I  agree  with 
you  in  that." 

I  looked  at  the  two  lovers,  who  were  afraid  almost  to 
look  at  each  other,  Babe  very  rosy  and  shy,  Tom  awk- 
ward and  uncomfortable.     His  hands  trembled  when  he 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN  VIENNA,  229 

a 

handed  her  the  bouquet,  and  hers  when  she  took  it. 
" Don't  you  like  my  gown,  Tom?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  you  handsome  thing/'  he  said,  eagerly,  "of 
course,  I  like  it,  but  you  are  not  the  same  girl  at  all, 
you  are  a  princess,  and  I've  only  got  my  every-day 
clothes  on,  I  feel  like  the  hired  man." 

"Princesses  don't  have  hired  men,  they  have  reti- 
nues," she  laughed,  "and  I  hope  you  will  continue  to 
be  in  awe  of  me." 

"The  right  way  to  begin  married  life,"  I  says,  but 
the  dear  Colonel  only  smiled  gravely,  understanding 
nothing  at  all  of  our  joking,  but  pleased,  because  we 
were.  Then,  as  we  were  to  spend  the  day  at  his  house, 
he  departed,  and  I  told  Babe  to  run  get  ready,  as  it  was 
two  o'clock,  and  we  were  to  dine  at  half  past.  As  she 
passed  him,   Ballinger  made  a  grab  at  her. 

"Don't,"  I  fairly  screamed,  "you  must  not  muss 
that  dress,  you  can't  hug  her  in  that." 

"He  can  kiss  me,  Miss  Wilder,"  said  silly  Babe,  and 
he  with  his  hands  behind  him,  gave  her  a  distant  kiss 
on  the  forehead. 

"Bless you,  my  child;  ain't  that  fatherly,  Wilder? 
Go  hurry,  Di,  you  musir  t  keep  his  dinner  waiting,  it's 
going  to  be  a  masterpiece,  and  us  poor  paupers  won't 
get  many  such,  but  then  you  know  you  were  Mase  of 
champagne  at  eighteen." 

Babe  ran  in  to  change  her  gown,  but  as  I  was  all 
ready,  I  entertained  the  young  man  with  some  sage 
advice. 

"  That  speech  of  mine  makes  me  think  of  a  fellow 


230  BABE  MURPHY. 

and  girl  that  dined  at  our  house  once/' he  said;  "  the  girl 
mighty  pretty,  fellow  a  little  cad,  we  had  some  sort  of 
a  frill  of  a  pudding  and  the  fellow  says,  '  Lizzie  you 
must  be  prepared  to  give  up  all  these  sort  of  things, 
you  won't  get  many  puddings  in  our  future  life  on  a 
Dakota  wheat  farm.*" 

(i  Well,  lie  was  a  cheerful  soul." 

"  Wasn't  he/' laughed  Ballinger,  "  and  the  joke  of 
it  was,  the  girl  ran  off  with  another  fellow,  a  month  or 
so  before  the  wedding." 

"  And  they  lived  happy  ever  afterward?" 

"  No,  in  five  years  they  got  a  divorce,  though  they 
were  rich  and  had  everything,  maybe  she  would  have 
been  better  off  without  the  pudding,  living  on  the 
wheat  farm.  Good  gracious,  how  long  does  it  take  a 
woman  to  dress?" 

"  She  hasn't  been  gone  five  minutes,  and  what  a 
fidgety  creature  you  are,  one  would  think  you  were 
afraid  to  get  married." 

"  Wouldn't  you  be?  "  mischievously. 

"  No,  it's  nothing  new  in  the  history  of  humanity." 

She  came  in  then,  in  her  pretty  blue  muslin,  with 
her  leghorn  hat  and  drooping  plumes,  and  she  had  hur- 
ried so  she  had  quite  a  red  face,  that  didn't  pale  any 
when  he  kissed  her  several  times. 

"You  are  an  every-day  girl  now,"  he  said,  "and 
poor  old  Wilder  has  to  stand  all  the  spooning.  Come 
Birdey,  let's  go  hand-and-hand,  like  country  lovers 
to  a  circus."  They  walked  decorously  when  they  came 
to  the  town,  and  tried  to  act  distant  and  dignified,  but, 


A  LOOKER-ON  AV  YIEXNA.  231 

la,  everybody  knew,  aud  one  old  sailor,  calking  a  boat, 
looked  up  as  they  passed  and  said,  ' '  It's  a  fine,  fair  day 
for  the  wedding,  the  Lord  bless  ye." 

Dear  me,  what  a  fine  dinner  the  Colonel  had  for  us, 
such  a  variety  of  food  and  fruit  and  wine.  I  did  enjoy 
the  champagne,  I  think  I  said  before,  that  I  have  a 
weakness  for  it,  and  the  folks  in  Southport  may  as  well 
know  it  first  as  last.  Maybe  I  took  a  drop  too  much  for 
discretion,  for  I  found  myself  discoursing  so  eloquently 
that  I  wondered  at  my  own  ability.  "  What  an  orator 
you'd  make,  Ann  Wilder," I  said  to  myself,  "but,  lame, 
women  can  only  talk  on  temperance,  and  the  fact  to  do 
that,  I  would  first  have  to  exhilarate  myself  on  cham- 
pagne would  hardly  be  proper;  as  for  women's  rights,  my 
curls  and  my  age  would  hurt  the  cause,  giving  newspaper 
men  a  chance  to  jibe  at  it,  as  they  will  at  my  story.  La 
me,  though,  as  old  Ben  Rines,  of  Southport,  used  to  say, 
when  the  boys  sauced  him,  "  Let  'em  talk,  it  don't  hurt 
me  none,  and  it  does  give  'em  a  heap  of  fun." 

The  Colonel  mellowed  to  pleasant  reminiscences,  Babe's 
cheeks  grew  red,  her  eyes  very  bright,  but  Ballinger  be- 
came pale  and  quiet.  I  do  think  a  man  on  his  wedding 
day  is  the  forlornest  object  on  earth.  What  silly,  nerv- 
ous, irritable  creatures  they  are,  something  the  same  as 
if  the  noose  was  not  matrimonial.  After  dinner  we  sat 
in  the  parlor  and  Babe  played  for'  us  some  of  her  pretty 
pieces,  and  then,  it  being  about  six  o'clock,  she  and  I 
went  upstairs  to  begin  her  toilet.  The  ceremony  was  to 
take  place  at  eight.  We  left  the  two  men  chatting  over 
their  cigars,  Tom  still  abstracted  and  ill  at  ease.     Up- 


232  BABE  MURPHY. 

stairs  I  gave  Babe  some  good  advice,  as  she  had  no 
mother  to  aggravate  her  with  the  same.  She  took  what 
I  said,  meekly,  only  getting  impudence  enough  to  say: 

"  How  did  you  know  so  much,  Ann,  when  you  never 
got  married  ?" 

"  By  keeping  awake,  my  dear,  absorbing  information 
like  a  sponge  does  water,  but  mostly  by  neighbors. 
Neighbors  are  a  great  boon  to  us  old  maids.  We  often 
live  in  their  lives  as  I  do  in  yours." 

When  she  had  her  gown  on,  I  stood  upon  a  chair  and 
fixed  her  veil,  and  the  two  colored  women  at  the  house 
came  in  to  rave  over  her,  one,  Hetty,  who  had  been  Mrs. 
Latham's  maid,  gave  a  few  deft  touches  to  the  flowers 
and  looping  better  than  I  could.  I  ripped  the  third 
finger  of  her  left  glove  open,  and,  wondering  if  that 
wild-acting  young  man  had  thought  of  the  wedding 
ring,  stepped  across  to  see.  He  was  tearing  about  his 
room  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  cursing  his  necktie,  so  I  got 
on  a  chair  and  tied  it  for  him,  he  standing  still,  for  a 
wonder,  and  then  I  patted  his  brown  cheek  with  my 
wrinkled  hand. 

u  You  never  looked  so  well  in  your  life,  Tom." 

"  Nor  felt  so  like  a  fool — look  like  a  waiter  in  a  sec- 
ond class  cafe.  Don't  that  coat  draw  across  the  back?" 
— with  some  profanity  about  a  New  York  tailor. 

"It  couldn't  set  better,  could  it,  Ponce,"  I  said,  to 
the  old  darky,  who  had  come  in  to  offer  his  services  to 
Marse  Tom. 

( '  Jest  melted  an'  run  inter  it/'  he  grinned,  and,  as 
there  was  nothing  to  do,  admired  the  young  man,  and 


A  LOOKER-OX  IN  VIENNA.  233 

departed  to  adorn  himself  for  the  important  position  of 
driver  of  the  wedding  carriage.  At  the  door  he  stopped 
a  moment: 

"When  the  Colonel  married  Miss  Elton,  dey  wa'  the 
harnsumest  couple  in  Virginy,  cle  Eltons  was  way-up 
folks,  and  Miss  carried  her  head  pretty  high  I  tell  yo', 
and  de  Colonel,  want  he  proud  too.  Lawd,  how  times 
change,  de  Colonel  only  one  left/'  He  shuffled  down 
the  stairs,  where  I  saw  the  Colonel  meet  him  and  pat 
his  shoulder. 

"Makes  you  think  of  old  times,  Ponce,  eh  ?" 

"Yes,  Marse." 

"Long,  long  ago,"  muttered  the  Colonel,  going  into 
the  parlor  and  standing  before  his  wife's  portrait,  and 
thinking,  God  knows  what  sad,  sad  thoughts,  and  living 
again,  such  dear  memories  of  her. 

The  young  couple  met  in  the  upper  hall,  Tom  too  ex- 
cited to  admire  my  darling,  hardly  looking  at  her. 
"  Have  you  got  the  ring  ?"  I  snapped,  not  any  too  much 
pleased  with  him;  fixing  Babe's  lace  handkerchief  (my 
gift)  in  her  dress. 

"  H — 1  no,"  then  he  darts  back  into  the  room, 
returning,  putting  one  ring  into  his  pocket,  he  hands 
Babe  a  little  case  holding  a  lovely  diamond  solitaire  shin- 
ing like  a  star. 

"  She  can't  carry  it,"  I  said,  putting  it  carefully  in 
my  pocket.  "Seems  to  me  an  engagement  ring  is 
rather  late  now." 

"  She  wouldn't  have  one  before,  and  I  was  too  broke 
to  get  as  nice  a  one  as  she  ought  to  have.     Do   you 


234  BABE  MURPHY. 

know  the  Colonel  gave  me  a  check  for  five  hundred  this 
morning  ?  Wonder  how  he  got  into  this  world  anyway, 
he's  too  good  for  it.     Curse  it,  there  goes  that  glove." 

"  It  ain't,"  I  said,  "  see,  it  fastens  this  way;  now  you 
are  all  right,  and  you  might  have  the  courtesy  to  admire 
your  wife." 

"My  wife,"  he  says,  with  a  long,  sweet  look  at  her, 
and  that  was  all,  but  I  suppose  she  saw  enough  admir- 
ation in  his  eyes  to  content  her.  The  Colonel  helped  her 
in  the  carriage,  tucked  her  train  in  carefully,  and  gave 
a  series  of  directions  to  Ponce,  who  was  gotten  up 
quite  elegantly  with  the  biggest  pair  of  white  cotton 
gloves  I  ever  saw,  and  a  bow  of  ribbon  on  the  whip. 
The  Colonel  and  I  climbed  into  a  hired  carriage,  and 
then  off  we  went  to  the  little  village  church.  In  a  room 
back  of  the  church  I  fixed  Babe's  train  and  settled  her 
veil,  and  then  I  slipped  out  into  a  front  pew,  rustling 
my  best  black  silk,  feeling  mightily  well  dressed.  The 
church  was  a  mass  of  flowers  and  vines,  beautifully  dec- 
orated, and  as  there  were  no  invitations  nor  limitations, 
most  of  the  folks  in  town  that  knew  us  were  there. 
Soon  the  organist  began  the  wedding  march  they 
always  play,  and  that  is  so  grand  and  majestic,  I  always 
wish  the  marriage  could  be  as  beautiful,  and  kept  up  to 
such  a  high  ideal.  But,  alas,  it  seldom  is;  and  coldness, 
and  want  of  faith,  and  hatred,  and  all  unkindness  too 
often  comes,  and  love  flies  away.  I  heard  the  swish  of 
Babe's  gown,  seeing  through  a  mist  my  darling's  blush- 
ing face  and  her  radiant  eyes.  I  noticed,  as  they  stood 
before  the  minister,  how  handsome  they  were,  and  how 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN  VIENNA.  235 

well  suited.  I  don't  think  Babe  would  have  been  happy 
with  any  other  man  than  he  at  her  side,  and  I  do 
believe  in  affinities.  I  heard  as  in  a  dream  the  solemn 
service,  that  name  Beatrice  Murphy  had  a  strange, 
unfamiliar  sound;  then  Thomas  Ballinger,  that  was  dig- 
nified and  stately  enough.  The  Colonel  gave  the  bride 
away,  then  there  was  the  usual  hunt  for  the  ring,  and 
Babe's  hand  shook  a  little,  and  his  voice  trembled  when 
he  promised  to  love  and  care  for  her  till  death  did  them 
part,  but  she  said  she'd  obey  quite  distinctly,  meaning 
it,  I  suppose,  as  little  as  any  woman  does. 

I  found  myself  wondering  if  he  would  love  her  always 
in  the  way  a  woman  likes,  with  caresses  and  lover's 
attentions;  not  many  men  do.  When  coldness  and 
indifference  comes,  God  pity  the  woman,  and  give  her 
children  to  fill  her  heart.  When  that  solemn  admoni- 
tion sounded,  if  any  man  knew  aught  that  those  two 
should  not  be  man  and  wife,  or  words  to  that  effect, 
remembering  in  books  how  many  strange  beings  had 
popped  up  to  protest  at  that  time,  I  turned  around  tim- 
orously, but  no  one  appeared,  not  even  the  ghost  of 
Mrs.  Howard,  or  much  worse,  the  lady  in  the  flesh. 
Well,  it  was  all  over  now,  a  kiss  from  the  young  hus- 
band to  his  dear  wife,  a  kiss  without  passion,  pure- 
hearted  and  reverent,  accepting  his  great  responsibility 
to  make  or  mar  a  human  life.  I  liked  him  that  in  that 
moment  he  could  remember  the  solemnity  of  the  time. 

WTe  drove  back  to  the  Colonel's,  where  there  was  a 
sumptuous  banquet — sumptuous  having  to  my  ear  a 
rich  and  oily  sound  fitting  a  description  of  food — and  a 


236  BABE  MURPHY. 

number  of  guests,  the  Colonel's  old-time  friends.  Babe 
cut  the  bride's  cake,  and  everybody  took  some  home — 
the  young  folks,  I  mean,  to  dream  on.  I  did,  slyly,  put 
a  piece  under  my  pillow,  merely  to  test  the  superstition, 
and  had  a  horrible  dream  of  Mrs.  Howard,  stern,  gigan- 
tic in  size,  sailing  into  a  monstrous  church  after  my 
young  couple,  and  forbidding  the  bans ;  and  I  know 
that  dream  now  was  probably  indigestion,  for  late  eat- 
ing don't  agree  with  me.  After  the  banquet  there  were 
dancing  and  promenading,  and  Babe,  when  she  could 
get  away,  slipped  up-stairs  to  change  her  gown. 
Neither  she  nor  the  bridegroom  ate  or  drank  anything,  so 
the  fine  victuals  were  quite  wasted  on  them;  but  I  suppose 
they  were  necessary  as  a  target  for  long  and  flowery 
speeches,  growing  longer  and  more  florid  as  the  glasses 
were  emptied.  I  slipped  after  Babe  to  help  her,  for  we 
were  going  to  walk  home,  and  she  didn't  want  to  trail 
that  gown  along  ;  but  I  found  she  was  nearly  dressed  in 
her  blue  muslin,  aided  by  the  deft  fingers  of  Hetty,  the 
maid.  "Just  you  come  along  with  us,"  she  says,  giv- 
ing me  a  hug,  "don't  you  creep  off  by  yourself."  She 
picked  a  few  jessamines  out  of  her  bouquet  and  folded 
them  in  her  handkerchief  to  press  and  keep,  but  she 
took  the  rest  with  her.  Hetty  promised  to  fold  the 
dress  properly,  and  then  we  set  out.  The  Colonel  and 
Ballinger  were  waiting  on  the  back  porch,  the  latter 
smoking  in  that  nervous,  irritable  way  of  his,  peculiar 
to  this  day.  As  we  started  off,  after  bidding  that  kind 
man  good-night,  the  guests  heard  us,  and  flung  rice  and 
slippers  after  us.  We  escaped  these  delicate  attentions 
without  injury,  and  hurried  on. 


A  LOOKER— OX  T$  VIENNA.  237 

What  a  glorious  night  it  was,  the  great,  sparkling 
sea  alive  with  moonlight  and  mystery,  the  town  wrapped 
in  that  poetic  moon  haze  that  makes  everything  beau- 
tiful. "Wre  stopped  by  the  graveyard  fence,  and  Babe 
went  in  alone. 

"  A  queer  place  to  go  on  a  wedding  night,"  grumbled 
Tom. 

She  heard  him  and  looked  back.  "I  want  to  Jay  my 
bouquet  on  his  grave,"  she  said,  with  trembling  lips, 
"and  begin,  dear,  my  new  life  with  kindness  and 
love  for  him." 

As  we  waited,  Drinda  passed,  going  home  from  the 
festivities  and  a  position  of  observation  in  the  kitch- 
en. She  stopped  and  looked  towards  my  girFs  kneel- 
ing figure  by  the  grave. 

"De  Lawd's  giben  you  a  mighty  good  wife,  Marse 
Tom." 

"Don't  I  know  that?"  he  smiled,  "  and  she  shall  be 
a  happy  one,  so  help  me  God !" 

I  went  on  home  with  Drinda,  and  left  the  young 
couple  alone;  I  saw  them  walking  on  the  beach  as  I 
went  in,  after  talking  over  the  day  with  Drinda.  I  saw 
them  so  close  together  their  shadows  were  almost  one, 
and  I  prayed  that  all  their  future  might  be  as  bright  and 
beautiful  as  that  moonlight  night,  and  all  their  paths 
as  pleasant  and  fair  as  that  long  stretch  of  shining  sand 
by  the  unquiet  waves.  I  wrote  all  this  that  I  have 
copied  while  they  walked,  and  had  almost  finished  when 
I  heard  the  gate  click.  I  saw  him  hold  it  open  for  her 
to  pass,  and  followed,  flinging  away  his  cigar — I  wonder 


CCS  BABE  MURPnY. 

how  many  he  smoked  that  day  to  calm  his  nervousness, 
but  only  making  him  worse — it  glittered  a  moment,  a 
fiery  spark  under  a  bush.  I  saw  him  pick  a  rose  and  put 
it  in  her  dress,  and  stoop  to  kiss  her  hair  lightly.  She 
ran  away  from  him  and  came  in  to  me,  sitting  on  the 
floor  beside  me,  hiding  her  face  in  my  laj:>.  She  is  very 
pale  and  tremulous,  and  hugs  me  close  to  her  beating 
heart.  He  stalks  in,  throws  his  hat  on  a  chair  with  an 
easy  sense  of  ownership.  "  I  wonder  if  I  acted  as  much 
like  a  chump  as  I  looked  and  felt,"  he  says.  He  is  full 
of  a  mad  merriment,  his  face  slightly  flushed,  his 
nervousness  quite  gone. 

"  Your  temper  has  been  worse  than  anything,"  I  said, 
agreeably,  "I  never  saw  such  a  cross-grained  creature; 
I  pity  your  wife." 

"The  only  flaw  in  your  character,  Wilder,  is  that 
you  are  a  single  woman,"  he  answered,  lightly,  going  to 
the  window  and  looking  out  on  the  bay.  "What  a 
night  it  is,  a  beautiful,  moonlit  world!" 

"There  is  some  sentiment  in  your  composition  after 
all,"  I  said. 

"  Who  would  not  gush  on  his  wedding  night,"  he 
said,  coming  over  to  me  and  patting  my  shoulder,  "you 
are  an  old  brick,  Wilder,  and  if  you  ever  leave  us,  I 
shall  drag  you  back.  Come,  Babe,  you  and  yours  truly 
are  not  like  literary  folks,  like  Ann.  I  wonder  if  she  is 
dissecting  us  for  the  public  amusement.  If  you  put 
me  into  fwritinV  and  it  gets  into  print — ah,  there's  the 
rub — if  it  does — and  tell  what  a  fool  I  am  and  have  been 
all  day,  and  how   Di  and  I  have  spooned,  I'll  sue  you 


A  LOOKER-ON  IN  VIENNA.  239 

for  libel,  just  $3,000,  brother  Nathan's  legacy,  and  land 
you  in  the  poorhouse.  But  we  are  not  jooks  and  Mer- 
quises,  and  Babe's  a  respectable  married  woman,  so  you 
won't  find  a  publisher — lor'  child,  they  can  get  for  noth- 
ing much  better  stuff  than  you  can  write,  chuck  full  of 
the  latest  foreign  immorality." 

He  raises  his  wife,  rumpling  her  curly  hair  from  her 
forehead,  to  kiss  her  passionately.     "  Good-night." 

They  are  gone,  and  I  sit  alone,  the  balmy  air  blows  in 
from  that  far,  blue  gulf,  the  moonlight  nickers  on  the 
waves,  and  in  one  long,  silver  shaft  falls  through  the 
window  on  the  floor,  and  wavers  with  the  wind.  "A 
looker-on  here  in  Vienna,"  those  words  come  to  me, 
and  I  wonder  where  I  heard  them.  Such  have  I  been 
all  my  life.  I  have  seen  children  grow  up  to  love  and 
mate,  and  mothers  died  beloved  by  children,  and 
grandparents  go  mourned  to  their  quiet  rest,  but  I 
have  only  been  a  looker-on,  and  shall  be  to  the  end. 
Somewhere  I  read  of  a  withered  rose  found  in  the  cere- 
ments of  an  Egyptian  princess,  dead  a  thousand  years. 
A  traveler,  unthinking,  laid  the  rose  in  water,  and,  lo, 
it  bloomed  again,  fragrant  and  marvelous,  so  rare  and 
beautiful,  the  like  was  never  seen.  In  some  far,  future 
life  my  heart,  may,  like  the  rose,  come  again  to  the  love 
and  passion  of  my  youth,  my  bereft  and  widowed  youth. 
Till  then,  I  am  content  to  be  the  looker-on. 


CHAPTEK  XXII. 


MR.    BEACH  S    GRATITUDE. 


We  had  a  happy  fortnight,  those  two  and  I,  for  they 
would  persist  in  making  me  go  everywhere  with  them. 
The  Colonel,  who  had  gone  to  Galveston,  left  them  his 
carriage,  so  we  had  delighful  drives,  besides  our  rows  on 
the  bay.  They  went  riding  a  few  times,  Babe  wearing 
the  habit  I  made  her  at  Erin.  One  evening  I  remember, 
when  we  were  sitting  in  her  bedroom,  she  brought  out 
that  old  habit  with  the  gilt  braid,  that  she  says  will 
never  be  destroyed  in  her  lifetime.  When  he  saw  it,  of 
course  Tom  had  to  take  her  and  the  habit  in  his  arms, 
and  recall  their  first  meeting,  as  lovers  will. 

"I  pity  us  poor  brides,"  laughed  Tom,  "when  we 
take  our  honey-moon  on  a  Pullman,  Why,  the  very 
porter  spots  us  with  a  fiendish  grin  when  we  come 
aboard  in  our  new  finery,  and  then  every  one  in  the  car 
knows  it  shortly,  and  discusses  us,  and  some  of  them 
without  the  dis.  I  have  watched  such  spoons  myself; 
it  is  immense  fun!  The  poor  souls  can't  steal  their 
hands  into  one  another's,  but  some  cold  eye  falls  on  them, 
all  their  little  love  talk  freezes  on  their  lips,  and  looks 
like  this  I  cast  on  Di,  go  astray,  intercepted  by  some 
sneer  of  an  old  wretch  in  a  back  seat.  If  she  goes  to 
lean  her  bridal  bonnet  on  the  shoulder  of  his  new  coat, 
the  baleful  glare  of  an  elderly  man  or  woman  stops  her 

240 


MR.  BEACH'S  GRATITUDE.  241 

just  in  the  act,  and  she  straightens  up  and  calls  him  Mr. 
Jones,  instead  of  '  darling '  or  e  hubby/  With  you  for 
audience,  spooning  has  a  new  zest,  you  are  so  sympa- 
thetic." 

"  Thanks,"  I  say,  dryly,  "  it  may  be  because  there  is 
no  escaping." 

I  smile  kindly  on  them  as  any  one  would.  How  pretty 
Babe  has  grown,  so  rosy  and  happy,  so  merry  and  eager 
to  please  us  both  with  a  sort  of  pathetic  dependence  on 
his  judgment,  different  from  her  old  self  reliance. 
That  grave,  sweet  expression  of  her  eyes  has  disappeared, 
and  I  do  not  see  it  again  until  a  little  life  lies  in  her 
arms,  and  mother  love  shines  in  her  face. 

We  used  to  go  in  bathing  in  the  Gulf,  and  Babe  made 
great  progress  in  learning  to  swim,  but  I  stayed  in  shore 
unless  Tom  took  hold  of  my  hand,  and  then  the  surf 
whirled  me  around  like  I  was  nobody  at  all.  It  takes 
great  courage — moral  courage  for  a  thin  person  like  my- 
self, to  wear  a  bathing  suit  and  get  chilled  by  the  water, 
perhaps  the  former  was  the  reason  I  liked  bathing  best 
after  dark.  The  junketing  we  did  in  those  days  was  pleas- 
ant enough,  and  much  happier  and  better  than  that  at 
Erin.  Dear  me,  the  more  I  see  of  married  folks,  the  more 
mournful  it  makes  me,  that  they  can't  be  jolly  together. 
Few  of  them  are,  after  five  or  six  years  of  married  life. 
The  men  like  to  get  off  by  themselves  and  smoke,  and  the 
women  are  forced  to  herd  together  likewise  andtalk  scan- 
dal, because  they  know  nothing  better  to  talk  about,  and 
some  lone  soul  that  escapes  the  dreary,  draught-scared 
circle,  and  joins  the  men,  is  looked  on  by  her  sisters  with 


242  BABE  MURPHY. 

stern  disapproval.  Some  of  the  dismal  periods  of  my 
life  have  been  passed  in  the  company  of  married  folks, 
where  I  became  a  sort  of  shuttlecock  for  their  contra- 
dictory battledoors. 

In  about  three  weeks  the  Colonel  returned.  He  came 
one  evening  when  the  young  couple  were  out  on  the 
beach,  and  seemed  very  glad  to  find  me  alone.  In  a 
perturbed  manner,  looking  quite  unlike  his  kindly,  dig- 
nified self,  he  told  me  he  had  seen,  in  an  Eastern  paper, 
a  reward  offered  for  knowledge  of  the  whereabouts  of 
Beatrice  Murphy,  also  an  advertisement  requesting  her 
to  send  her  address  to  George  Martin,  of  Erin,  Colorado 
and  learn  something  to  her  advantage. 

"The  world  is  so  full  of  meanness,"  said  I,  "that  I 
don't  believe  in  the  advantage  at  all,  no  one  can  do  any- 
thing for  the  child  that  I  know  of  unless  Dick  Daggett. 
There  are  no  miracles  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  I 
doubt  if  he  would  be  one  and  give  her  money  if  the 
mine  panned  out.  Besides,  he  would,  not  employ  Martin 
— he  hates  him." 

"Mrs.  Ballinger  can  rely  on  me/'  said  the  Colonel, 
with  great  earnestness,  "  I  shall  devote  my  life  to  her 
interests,  if  there  is  anything  cowardly  and  wrong  set 
against  her.  The  cause  of  a  noble  woman  is  enough  to 
nerve  any  man." 

"But  seldom  any  man,  save  a  Southern  gentleman, 
would  return  to  a  long-abandoned  practice,  to  serve  a 
young  woman,  as  you  have." 

"My  dear  Miss  Wilder,  any  gentleman  would.     Youj 
Northerners  are  more  practical,  perhaps,  but  all  men 


MR  BEACWS  GRATITUDE.  243 

have  a  chivalrous  regard  for  a  lady  in  trouble,  and  are 
eager  to  help  her,  it  is  the  highest  privilege  to  be 
allowed  to  do  so." 

You  good  soul,  I  thought,  a  woman  would  do  much 
to  keep  your  respect  and  to  deserve  your  loyalty.  I  wish 
there  were  more  of  you,  and  then  there  would  be  less 
sinful  women,  and  a  great  deal  more  courtesy  in  a 
world  that  needs  it  sorely. 

We  said  nothing  of  the  subject  of  our  conversation 
to  the  young  folks,  when  they  returned,  but  talked  of 
Mexico,  whither  we  were  going  the  following  week. 
The  Colonel,  much  pained,  suggested  some  of  the 
discomforts  Babe  would  suffer  in  that  strange  country, 
but  she  shook  her  pretty  head. 

"I  have  always  roughed  it,"  she  said,  <( I  never  was 
a  home  body,  and  all  out  doors  never  was  too  big  and 
great  for  my  soul.  Why,  I  was  brought  up  right  in  the 
shadow  of  those  mighty  mountains  and  knew  all  their 
lights  and  shades,  lived  in  their  tempests  and  wild 
moods.  Four  walls  stifle  me.  Then,  "Miss  "Wilder  is 
not  weary  of  junketing  yet,  she  is  a  regular  path- 
finder, a  crusader,  a  very  Robinson  Crusoe." 

"Mexico,"  I  said,  slowly,  "has  always  been  an  Arabian 
Nights  to  me,  an  enchanted  land  in  a  prosaic  century,  a 
place  of  churches  and  paintings,  of  rare  silver  orna- 
ments, of  tropics  cenery,  of  weirdly  strange  people,  of 
the  Aztec  aristocrats  of  this  world.  What  I  know  of 
it,  that  makes  me  talk  in  this  moon-struck  way,  was 
told  me  by  a  neighbor,  Joe  Dodge.  He  fought  in  the 
Mexican  war   and  brought  back  some  fine  paintings, 


244  BABE  MURPH7. 

silver  vessels,  and  strange  embroideries  he  had  stolen 
from  churches;  with  these  he  had  learned  a  wild  and 
reckless  way  of  riding,  and  a  love  for  the  beauty  and 
poetry  of  that  far  country  that  made  him  a  figure  apart 
in  our  narrow-minded  village.  I  would  see  him  ride  by 
on  his  great  horse,  saddleless  and  bridleless — Tom,  don't 
you  grin,  I  don't  mean  the  man,  but  the  horse — and  I 
would  stop  him  for  a  chat,  and  then  go  in  and  dream 
of  Mexico,  and  wish  I  could  send  my  soul  there  while 
my  poor  body  stayed  and  lived  in  Southport.  Rare 
company  he  was,  and  strange  scenes  he'd  lived  through 
to  come  at  last,  liked  that  water-logged,  old  tree-trunk 
out  there  on  the  beach,  with  all  its  history  of  growth  in 
tropic  forest,  and  all  its  voyaging  on  the  seas,  to  find 
quiet  harbor." 

"  Was  Dodge  well  fixed?"  interrupted  Mr.  Ballinger, 
"he  could  sell  his  pickings,  I  suppose." 

"He  was  a  married  man." 

"Oh,"  then  irrelevantly,  "why  don't  you  write  poetry?" 

"She  could,  if  she  wanted  to,"  said  Babe,  earnestly; 
she  does  believe  in  me. 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  the  Colonel,  politely. 

"I  might  think  it,"  I  answered,  "but,  counting 
the  feet,  like  chopping  wood  with  a  dull  hatchet,  takes 
all  the  poetry  out  of  it,  to  me,  and  running  over  in  my 
mind  the  words  to  rhyme,  like  blind,  find,  ghind,  and 
then  beginning  again — no,  poetry  is  beyond  me,  but, 
goodness!"  I  cried,  starting  up,  "If  that  man  coming 
isn't  Lawyer  Martin,  of  Erin,  it's  his  ghost!" 

The  person  approaching,  that  we  had  not  noted,  being 


MR.  BEACH'S  GRATITUDE.  245 

busy  talking,  though  all  sitting  on  the  beach  near  the 
cottage,  now  came  up  to  us. 

"I  am  pleased  to  find  you  all  here,"  he  said.  "  My 
name  is  Martin,  I  trust  Mrs.  Ballinger  remembers  me. 
Colonel  Latham,  I  believe,  well,  I  thought  best  to 
answer  your  letter  in  person." 

"Sit  down,  Di,"  said  Tom,  flinging  his  arm  across 
his  wife's  knees — she  would  have  risen,  looking  white 
and  terrified,  but  he  pulled  her  back  in  her  chair,  and 
resumed  his  place  at  her  feet,  "no  one  can  hurt  you, 
dear,  have  you  not  got  me?" 

The  Colonel  got  up  with  awful  dignity,  "Sir,"  he 
said,  frigidly,  "  I  consider  this  intrusion  an  unwarrant- 
able impertinence." 

"  I  appeal  to  Miss  Wilder,"  said  Martin,  awful  pleas- 
ant, and  I  thinking  all  the  time  how  mean  he  acted 
that  day  of  the  inquest;  "  I  always  respected  Miss  Mur- 
phy highly,  and  my  news  is  good  news;  but,  dear  me, 
what  a  hunt  I  have  had  to  find  you.  Perhaps  you 
remember,"  said  Martin,  addressing  his  remarks  to  me, 
"that  night  when  Miss  Murphy  assisted  the  deceased 
to  my  house.  You  do;  well,  on  that  occasion,  Mr.  Beach 
revoked  his  former  Avill,  giving  all  his  property  to  his 
wife.  He  knew  she  was  entitled,  being  still  his  wife, 
to  half,  and  even  if  she  had  been  divorced,  I  think  he 
would  still  have  given  her  something.  He  remembered 
all  of  his  connections  generously,  even  your  humble 
servant  much  more  than  he  deserved.  I  did  not  write 
the  will,  he  wrote  every  line  himself,  and  withholding 
the  reading  of  it  from  us,  got  Doctor  Hooper  and  my- 


246  BABE  MURPHY. 

self  to  signjrt.  One  of  the  bequests  was  the  sum  of  ten 
thousand  dollars  to  his  worthy  friend,  Lydia  Ann 
Wilder." 

"Gracious  me!"  I  gasped,  "if  I  ain't  the  luckiest 
woman,  I've  gone  into  the  legacy  business,  and,  Babe, 
you  shall  share  it,  you  dear  thing." 

"I  fancy  Mrs.  Ballinger  will  not  need  your  gener- 
osity." said  Martin,  with  aggravating  slowness,  "by  the 
terms  of  the  same  will,  the  sum  of  two  hundred  thou- 
sand dollars  is  willed,  unconditionally,  to  Miss  Beatrice 
Murphy."' 

"He  hated — hated  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Ballinger,  "oh, 
it  can  not  be  so!" 

"It  is,  nevertheless;  he  respected  you  highly,  and  told 
me  that  night  when  you  were  gone,  of  the  delicate  and 
honorable  way  you  tried  to  warn  him  of  his  wife's  con- 
duct. His  rudeness  to  you  on  that  occasion  seemed  to 
trouble  him  greatly.  He  had  also  a  whimsical  liking 
for  Miss  Wilder,  whose  honesty  and  oddity  of  speech 
amused  and  pleased  him.  He  says  in  his  will,  he  hopes 
Miss  Murphy  will  accept  the  money  in  token  of  his 
good  will  and  gratitude  to  her,  and  if  she  has  any 
scruples  at  all,  let  her  take  it  then  as  her  right — her 
lawful  due,  I  think  the  words  were.  I  fear,"  said  Mar- 
tin, sadly,  "that  the  poor  man  had  some  presentiment 
of  his  approaching  death  when  he  left  commands  the 
will  was  not  to  be  opened  for  two  months.  He  spoke 
very  feelingly  of  you.  and  I  am  sure  had  you  heard 
him,  you  would  have  forgiven  all  the  past.  The  world 
did    not   condemn    his   action  in  taking  your   father's 


MR.  BEACH'S  GRATITUDE.  247 

mine,  but  as  far  as  the  moral  effect  was,  it  was  wrong. 
Beach  was  not  blind  to  that  at  all,  and  said  that  night 
he  would  always  be  glad,  that,  from  a  neglected, 
untaught  child,  you  had  grown  into  a  gracious,  noble 
woman;  but  added,  had  you  the  advantages  the  money 
your  father  lost  would  have  given  you,  your  life  might 
have  been  vastly  different.  I  trust,  Mr.  Ballinger,  you 
will  persuade  your  wife  to  accept  this  legacy,  odd  as  it 
is;  I  believe,  knowing  what  I  do  of  her,  in  that  rigid 
justice  of  hers  she  will  refuse  to  be  benefited  by  the 
man  her  father  wronged  so  cruelly." 

" Di,  why  don't  you  speak?"  cried  Tom,  going  up  to 
his  wife,  "  what  makes  you  look  so  white  and  dreadful, 
it  was  awfully  good  of  the  old  man  to  remember  you,  he 
would  grieve  in  his  grave  if  you  refuse  it,  but  it  shall  be 
as  you  say.      We  don't  need  money  to  make  us  happy." 

"I  can't — can't  understand  it,  Tom — my  father's 
enemy!  "she  put  out  her  hands  blindly,  and  he  caught 
her  as  she  fell.  Dear  me,  what  a  fuss  he  made  ;  but  she 
was  not  the  fainting  kind,  only  once  before,  I  told  him, 
"that  day  you  left  her,  and  then  what  a  time  I  had  to 
bring  her  too."  She  is  a  woman  of  great  soul,  of  strong 
emotions,  and  can  suffer  more  in  a  moment  than  some 
women  can  in  a  day.  When  she  was  better,  and  he  was 
petting  and  talking  to  her,  I  went  outside  to  talk  to 
Martin  about  Erin  and  all  the  folks.  The  Colonel  had 
turned  a  sort  of  mental  somersault,  and  was  polite  as 
could  be  to  Martin,  and  ended  by  insisting  his  brother 
lawyer  should  become  his  guest,  and  away  they  went 
together  after  hearing  Mrs.  Ballinger  was  much  better. 


248  BABE  MURPHY. 

Before  I  went  to  bed  I  went  into  Babe's  room,  where 
I  found  her  very  smiling  and  bright-eyed,  telling  her 
husband  what  she  was  going  to  get  him  with  her  wealth. 
"  It's  only  a  fellow  in  a  novel  that  gives  up  a  for- 
tune/' said  Tom,  sopping  cologne  on  his  wife's  head, 
and  nearly  putting  her  eyes  out,  but  never  a  complaint 
she  made;  "we  haven't  such  heroic  souls,  and  then 
that  money  is  hers,  anyway." 

"  I  think  so,"  I  said,  and  wasn't  it?  "  And  that  was 
what  made  Clara  mad,  knowing  you  would  have  half 
the  property,  and  she  swore  to  Martin  you  and  I  were 
in  New  York— the  little  cat." 

"  Didn't  know  you  could  be  so  severe,"  laughed  Tom, 
"queer  how  people  will  act  about  money.  I  know 
Clara  went  back  there  on  Babe's  account,  liking  her 
and  wishing  to  make  her  happy,  but  the  moment  she 
finds  out  Babe  is  going  to  get  some  of  the  old  man's 
cash,  whew!  her  blood's  up  and  she  does  all  she  can  to 
prevent  it." 

The  Colonel  accompanied  Martin  to  Erin;  he  would 
not  let  Tom  go — separating  the  young  couple  was  not 
to  be  thought  of,  and  after  a  fortnight  he  returned  to 
deliver  her  property  to  his  client.  He  had  met  Mrs. 
Finnerty,  and  his  attempts  to  relate  her  remarks  and 
blessings  on  us  were  as  richly  funny  as  anything  I  ever 
heard. 

"She  struck  me  as  a  well-meaning,  but  uneducated, 
person,"  he  said,  in  apology. 

With  some  twenty  thousand  of  the  money,  Tom  bought 
a  ranch  about  ten  miles  from  Denver,  situated  on  the 


MR.  BEACH'S  GRATITUDE.  249 

Platte  river,  and  as  sightly  a  place  as  one  could  wish 
for.  The  house  had  been  recently  built,  and  bore  an 
odd  sort  of  resemblance  to  that  one  of  Beach's  at  Erin, 
but  it  was  charming  all  the  same  and  shaded  by  a  grove 
of  cotton  woods,  a  grateful  comfort  in  that  sunny  coun- 
try. Never  yet  have  I  looked  on  those  burning  sands, 
glittering  under  a  July  sun,  but  I  think  of  that  Scrip- 
ture phrase,  "  The  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary 
land/'  and  how  good  such  a  spot  must  be  to  a  traveler! 
Tom  said  he  was  fit  for  nothing  but  farming,  he  liked 
it  best,  and  that  life  suited  us  all  well.  Around  our 
ranch  were  fertile  fields,  our  own  the  finest,  and  our 
stock — for  I  say  ours  as  if  I  really  was  one  of  the  family 
— was  the  prize  sort,  with  pedigrees  and  blue  ribbons  at 
fairs.  They  did  say  Tom  would  "bust  up,"  in  the  ex- 
pressive vernacular  of  the  region,  but  he  has  not  yet, 
and  seems  to  have  a  natural  gift  for  making  farming 
and  stock-raising  pay.  Mrs.  Ballinger  fitted  the  house 
up  in  a  most  costly  manner;  nothing  is  too  good  for 
her,  I  notice,  and  yet  I  remember  when  she  had  but 
one  gown  to  her  back — and  such  a  one,  with  its  gilt 
braid  and  faded  skirt.  We  took  old  Drinda  with  us; 
she  would  not  be  parted  from  Mrs.  Ballinger,  and  she 
is — Drinda,  I  mean,  Mrs.  B.  never  being  an  extra  one 
— a  most  marvelous  cook.  Doctor  accompanied  us  also, 
and  is  grown  to  be  quite  staid  and  rheumatic,  awing 
the  rest  of  our  collection  of  dogs  by  his  superior  wisdom 
and,  I  might  add,  his  greyhound  bite,  that  is  effective. 
After  a  few  months  Mrs.  Ballinger  began  to  indulge  in 
a  wild  debauch  of  pets,  and  our  kennels  held  a  setter,  a 


250  BABE  MUBPnY. 

poi nter,  a  large  mastiff  (I  was  mortally  scared  of  him), 
a  skye  terrier  and  a  black-and-tan  of  a  tireless  bark 
that  seemed  a  target  for  Mr.  Ballinger's  temper,  and 
slippers,  and  other  articles  of  wearing  apparel.  As  if 
there  were  not  enough  animals  about,  a  vagabond  collie 
followed  me  home  one  day  and  attached  himself  to  me, 
and,  when  I  did  not  watch  him,  scuttled  under  my  bed 
at  night.  Many  and  wearying  were  the  battles  I  fought 
with  him  to  make  him  know  his  place,  but  he  never 
did,  and,  when  I  write  this,  is  sneaking  up  the  stairs 
with  sublime  assurance,  coming  into  the  room  inch  by 
inch,  so  pitifully  meek  and  abject  I  let  him  stay.  Mrs. 
Ballinger  had  a  Kentucky  mare,  too,  very  spirited  and 
saucy,  and  I  never  saw  my  dear  girl  ride  off  but  I  did 
worry  a  little,  though  Tom  was  always  with  her. 

So  days  pass  into  weeks  and  weeks  into  months,  and 
we  are  as  happy  as  mortal  folks  can  be,  with  only  one 
shadow  over  our  happiness. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MRS.    BALLINGER'S   BABY. 

I  saw  that  botli  Ballinger  and  his  wife  grieved  that 
Mrs.  Howard  would  not  answer  their  letters,  but  Tom 
first  declared  he  would  not  care;  that  his  mother 
was  unjust,  and  let  her  act  hateful  then.  He  would 
not  allow  his  wife  to  fret  about  it — but  there!  if  it 
wasn't  that,  it  was  something  else,  and  Babe  got  to  be 
a  regular  torment  of  a  woman.  She  actually  cried 
because  Tom  scolded  her  for  feeding  the  setter  too 
much  and  spoiling  him  for  hunting,  and  threatened  to 
tell  the  Humane  Society  he  was  starving  the  poor 
brute.  She  did  not  care  for  riding,  the  mare  fright- 
ened her,  and  driving  made  her  weary;  she  developed 
nerves,  when  she  never  before  acknowledged  she  had 
any,  and  I  was  mortal  afraid  to  say  a  word  to  her  about 
her  temper;  only  Drinda  was  sympathetic  and  kind, 
and  when  that  worthy  old  woman  had  given  me  a  piece 
of  her  mind,  I  retailed  it  to  Tom,  and  then  we  were 
more  gentle  with  our  darling,  submissive  to  her  light- 
est wish. 

A  time  came  when  she  was  very  ill,  and,  dear  me! 
how  sad  our  hearts  were  when  she  begged  us  to  forgive- 
her  if  she  had  been  cross  and  unlike  herself!  And  all 
those  waiting  days  we  wandered  about  the  house,  so 
sadly  desolate  without  her,  and  knew  how  much  we 

251 


252  BABE  MURPHY. 

loved  and  missed  her  with  keen  anguish.  I  remember 
a  dreadful  night  when  Tom  drove  to  Denver  at  a  gallop, 
and  two  awful  days  when  we  did  not  know  she  would 
live  an  hour,  and  strange  doctors  crept  up  the  stairs, 
and  a  nurse  with  a  sober  face,  who  scorned  my  inquir- 
ies, no  matter  how  abject  I  was. 

"  It's  like  a  dead  person  was  in  the  house,"  Tom 
would  say,  hiding  his  face  in  his  outstretched  arms, 
caring  nothing  who  saw  his  grief,  sitting  on  the  stairs 
for  the  doctor  to  fall  over,  or  wandering  into  the 
kitchen  to  be  comforted  by  Drinda,  and,  dear  me,  she 
said  she'd  had  nine,  but  I  don't  believe  her.  I  pitied 
that  poor  young  fellow,  though;  he  neither  ate  nor 
slept,  sitting  outside  her  door,  asking  the  last  news, 
hardly  daring  to  cross  the  threshold.  She  knew  none 
of  us;  she  was  back  in  her  mountain  home,  riding 
her  broncho  (that  Tom  had  brought  to  the  ranch  to 
please  her,  though  the  animal  was  worth  nothing  at 
all),  or  babbling  of  the  mountains,  the  brooks,  the 
people  she  knew  in  her  childhood — never  a  word  of  us. 
She  called  often  on  her  father,  always  with  the  sweet 
affection  of  a  child,  and  once  or  twice  screamed,  as  if 
in  terror,  some  recollection  of  those  wild  scenes  of  her 
youth  coming  to  her. 

One  morning  Drinda  came  creeping  into  my  room, 
looking  uncanny  enough  in  the  gray  light.  "  It's  a 
fine  boy,  Miss  Wilder,  and  she's  asking  for  you."  I 
wasn't  asleep  nor  dressed  for  bed;  I  don't  think  I  had 
my  clothes  off  for  a  week,  so  I  hurried  in.  I  took  her 
dear  head  in  my  arms. 


MRS.  BALLINGERS  BABY.  253 

"  Hold  me,  Ann,  like  you  used  to,"  she  said,  such  a 
ghost  of  herself.  "I  think  if  I  die  I  would  like  to 
drift  away  with  your  arms  about  me;  you'd  give  me 
courage  to  go  that  lonely  journey." 

"  To  get  well,  my  darling,  my  poor,  sick  girl," I  said, 
"  surely  no  woman  has  more  to  live  for. than  you  have 
now."  She  went  quietly  to  sleep,  and  Tom,  coming  to 
see  her,  stopped  at  the  door  not  to  wake  her.  How  worn 
and  haggard  he  was,  with  sleepless  eyes,  unshaven  chin 
and  neglected  clothes.  "  I — I  don't  wonder  she  hates 
me,"  he  groaned;  and  I  did  have  to  smile  a  little  bit, 
if  he  was  so  wretched.  Then  that  majestic  nurse 
brought  in  a  red  flannelly  bundle  and  put  it  in  his 
arms. 

11  Hold  it  so,"  she  said,  unbending  at  his  awkward- 
ness. 

"  What  a  queer  little  beast,"  he  said,  "and  to  think 
it's  hers  and  mine — a  life  just  begun,  to  end  how  many 
years  from  now,  and  how!  Poor  little  beggar — oh,  I 
say,  take  it;  it's  going  to  cry." 

"  You  must  get  used  to  that,"  I  said,  cruelly;  "and 
now  do  go  get  some  sleep;  you  look  awfully  miserable, 
enough  to  scare  any  one." 

He  obeyed  me  like  a  lamb.  He  was  very  meek,  for 
him,  and  I  inwardly  smiled  at  it.  When  he  came  back, 
it  was  a  good  six  hours,  and  Di  was  awake,  feeling 
much  brighter  and  better,  I  sitting  by  her  side,  that 
hateful  nurse  down  stairs.  He  had  shaved  and  changed 
his  clothes,  and  looked  like  his  old  self.  With  elabo- 
rate caution,  he  tiptoed  over  to  the  tiled  hearth,  where 


254  BABE  MURPHY. 

the  flickering  fire  Babe  loved  to  watch  was  burning. 
Dear  me!  I  ought  to  break  myself  of  using  that  nick- 
name, but  it  is  hard  to  do  it. 

"  Tom,"  she  called,  softly,  he  turned  and  went  toward 
her,  "I  am  afraid  to  come  near  you,  I'm  so  clumsy/'  he 
said. 

She  gave  him  the  ghost  of  a  smile,  "  Isn't  he  lovely?" 
she  said,  lifting  the  sheet  off  that  red  face  on  her  arm. 
He  was  not  lovely  at  all,  but  Tom  said  it,  with  admir- 
able grace  and  quite  the  appearance  of  thinking  so,  and 
still  with  that  awed  look  in  his  handsome,  brown  eyes,  he 
knelt  beside  her,  his  head  close  to  hers,  and  then  I  stole 
away  and  left  them. 

We  had  a  happy  summer  when  Di  was  well,  and  I  never 
saw  a  finer  baby  than  our  little  Neil  Latham — there  I 
say  our,  again,  but  I  do  claim  some  right  to  that  child; 
and  wasn't  the  Colonel  pleased  because  Neil  was  his 
namesake? 

"  It  would  have  been  Lydia  Ann,  if  it  had  been  a 
girl,"  said  Mrs.  Ballinger,  " but  I  do  like  boys  best." 

"A  fault  of  your  sex,"  I  said,  "but  please  remember 
you  were  a  girl  yourself." 

v'*  A  very  lovely  one,"  smiled  the  Colonel,  looking  per- 
plexedly pleased.  It  was  fun  to  see  him  hold  the  baby; 
baby  screaming  and  clutching  at  the  Colonel's  whiskers, 
and  that  stately  gentleman  trying  to  extricate  himself 
without  offending  Sir  Baby. 

A  pretty  scene  I'  remember  was  in  April  when  Neil 
was  a  year  old,  he  was  an  April  boy,  like  his  mother,  all 
smiles  and  tears.     Tom  had  gone   for  a  ride,  but  his 


MRS.  BAL LINGERS  BABY.  255 

wife  was  entertaining  the  Colonel,  who  was  making  us 
a  visit.  We  were  sitting  on  the  veranda,  the  baby  asleep 
in  his  mother's  arms. 

"  Colonel/'  said  my  dear  girl,  softly,  "You  know — 
know  Mrs.  Howard?" 

"Yes,"  uncomfortably. 

"  She  knows  very  well  we  are  married,  we  wrote  her, 
but  does  she  know  of  this?" 

"If  you  refer  to  the  baby,"  said  the  Colonel,  "  I — I 
think  I  told  her." 

"You  know  it,  you  kind  heart,  and  she  said  some- 
thing dreadful,  isn't  that  so?" 

"  I  did  not  tax  my  memory  with  it,  if  she  did,"  very 
stiffly. 

"  I  shall  not  give  her  up,"  went  on  Mrs.  Ballinger, 
"no,  indeed;  because,"  convincingly,  "she  has  never 
seen  Neil.  I  did  not  know" — bending  her  beautiful  face 
to  brush  baby's  forehead  lightly  with  her  lips,  "how 
much  I  loved  or  could  love,  until  my  baby  came.  A 
mother  can  never  forget,  I  will  not  believe  it,  she  must 
remember  when  her  baby  was  given  to  her,  and  how  he 
loved  her  best,  his  first,  dear  love,  so  innocent  and  beauti- 
ful. Colonel,  I  ask  you  to  help  me  when  I  shall  call  on 
you,  no  matter  how  or  when,  to  soften  that  unnatural 
mother's  heart  and  make  her  forgive  my  husband  for 
marrying  me." 

"Whatever  you  ask  I  will  do,"  he  said,  solemnly, 
"knowing  that  it  will  be  just  and  right,"  He  took  the 
hand  she  held  out  and  raised  it  to  his  lips,  and  they 
registered  that  vow  then,  that  afterward  I  saw  carried 
out  to  a  happy  finish. 


256  BABE  MURPHY. 

Dear  me,  after  writing  of  Mrs.  Ballinger  as  a  most 
angelic  woman,  I  should  have  to  tell  what  I  must  on  her 
and  to  justify  myself,  as  I  have  the  right,  and  show  her 
her  heartless  conduct.  After  various  experiences  with 
nurses,  the  last  one  being  found  intoxicated  in  the  cel- 
lar, Neil  playing  with  a  broken  bottle  beside  her,  we 
decided  on  making  Drinda  nurse,  and  getting  another 
cook;  but  most  of  baby's  toilet  was  performed  by  his 
mother  or  me,  frequently  by  both  of  us.  And  this  all 
led  to  a  day  that  was  a  very  Sahara  to  me.  Perhaps  I 
did  monopolize  baby  too  much,  and  may  be  he  did  like  to 
go  to  me  pretty  well.  I  think  our  first  quarrel  was  over 
taking  off  his  flannels,  when  I  insisted  it  was  too  soon. 

"He  is  my  own  baby,"  Mrs.  Ballinger  cried,  in  a  fine 
temper,  "he  shan't  be  roasted  to  death." 

"He  will  get  his  death  from  cold,  and  it  will  be  your 
fault,"  I  said,  stubbornly.  Then,  like  most  silly  women, 
she  said: 

"I'd  like  to  know  how  you  know  anything  about 
babies,  anyway." 

"  It  will  be  murder  if  they  go  off  before  the  first  of 
June,"  I  muttered,  stalking  out  of  the  room.  They  did 
come  off,  and  a  storm  came  up,  and  a  cold,  drizzling 
day  set  in,  and  that  night,  at  twelve  o'clock,  a  scared, 
white  figure  came  to  my  bed  and  gasped,  she  just 
knew  baby  was  dying,  he  was  breathing  so,  and  wouldn't 
I  come  and  see  ? 

•"Those  fat  babies  are  always  croupy,"  I  said,  coolly, 
acting  as  if  I  wasn't  scared,  mean  enough  to  aggravate, 
her  distress,  and  then  I  fixed  the  poor  little  fellow  more 


MBS.  BALLINGERS  BABY.  257 

comfortable,  and  got  him  some  medicine  the  doctor  had 
left,  and  he  was  all  right  in  no  time.  Mr.  Ballinger,  1 
was  pleased  to  hear,  gave  his  wife  a  fine  scolding  on  the 
flannel  question,  and  mostly  for  not  taking  my  advice. 

About  a  fortnight  after  that,  Mr.  Ballinger  came  into 
my  room  and  found  me  packing  my  trunk. 

"  Thunder,"  he  says,  standing  looking  at  me,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  "  What's  up?  Di  is  in  there  cry- 
ing over  the  cub,  and  here  you  are,  white  as  a  ghost, 
your  eyes  snapping,  your  poor  little  self  all  trembling, 
gathering  your  duds  together.  Come,  speak  out,  what's 
the  matter?  I  know  it's  her  fault." 

"  I  won't  say  one  word,  Mr.  Ballinger,"  I  says,  trem- 
bling all  over,  "not  one  word.  Your  wife  is  very  dear 
to  me.  You  know  that,  and  I  have  presumed  too  much, 
I  know  I  have.  I'll  just  go  quietly  away,  and  here's  his 
blue  silk  socks  not  finished  yet,  I  been  knitting  'em  for 
him,  I  suppose  she'll  let  me  send 'em  by  mail,  and  you'll 
write  me  a  line  once  in  a  while  that  he  is  well,  and  his 
croup  syrup  is  most  out,  that  third  bottle  in  the  bath- 
room., I  mean,  on  the  third  shelf,  and,  dear,  I  don't 
know  what  I  am  talking  about." 

Then  I  just  cried  as  hard  as  I  could,  and  he  sat  there 
on  the  table,  swinging  his  long  legs  and  whistling  under 
his  breath  with  some  profane  words — shames  and  such. 
Then  in  she  came,  very  white  and  red-eyed. 

"The  truth  was,"  says  she,  "Tom,  you  shan't  look 
at  me  like  that — but  the  ba — baby  liked  her  best.  He 
did,  of  course,  he  liked  me  in  a  selfish  way,  he  had  to 
have  me  (actually  a  look  of  triumph  in  her  eyes),  but 


258  BABE  MURPHY. 

he  would  crow  and  call  for  her  and  try  to  go  to  her,  and 
she  has  just  stolen  my  own  child's  affection.  So  there, 
now ! " 

"  I  am  going  right  away,"  I  says,  "you  shan't  never 
see  me  again." 

"You  two,  silly  things,"  says  Tom,  looking  at  us  in 
great  scorn,  "yoa  seem  to  think,  Di,  that  young  one  is 
an  angel;  I  should  think  you'd  be  glad  she  loved  it. 
Aren't  you  ashamed,  with  all  you've  got  to  care  for,  and 
Wilder  so  little,  and  then  acting  like  a  spiteful  cat." 

"You  are  hateful  and  rude,"  she  said,  swiftly.  "  You 
shan't  talk  like  that,  and  that  baby's  all  mine,  every  bit. 
I  guess  I  suffered  for  him.  I  am  jealous,  and  I  don't 
care  if  you  do  know  it." 

"You  seem  to  forget  all  she  has  done  for  you,  a  true 
friend  when  you  needed  one  most.  I  am  ashamed,  if  you 
can  not  be.  You  were  meek  enough  when  the  cub  had 
the  croup,  your  fault,  too.  Oh,  I  like  the  way  you  are 
acting,  I  do,  I'm  proud  of  you." 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Tom,  don't  let  me  be  the  cause 
of  your  first  quarrel,"  I  cried,  getting  up  and  putting  on 
my  bonnet  with  shaking  hands.  "  I  never  will  forgive 
myself,  now  you  send  for  the  wagon  and  get  me  to  town, 
the  trunk  can  go,  Drinda  will  finish  it  for  me." 

"I  won't  order  the  wagon,"  Mr.  Ballinger  getting 
sulky  now. 

"I  can  walk,  then." 

At  that  moment  Neil,  who  evidently  wanted  a  voice 
in  the  conflict,  began  to  cry;  his  mother  paid  no  heed, 
looking  very  white  and  determined. 


MRS.  BALLiyQERS  BABY.  259 

"Why  don't  you  go  get  him?"  says  Tom,  glaring 
angrily. 

"  Let  Miss  Wilder  get  him,"  she  answered,  with  that 
rebellious  look  I  knew  so  well.  I  went  right  in  and 
fetched  him  out  of  his  crib,  he  refusing  to  be  comforted, 
crying  for  his  mother  in  a  real,  pitiful  way,  and  she 
would  not  even  look  at  him. 

"  Why  don't  he  stop  yelling?"  said  Tom,  stupidly. 

"  He  wants  his  unnatural  mother,"  I  says,  shortly, 
l(  and  yet  she  says  I've  got  him  away  from  her." 

"  Give  him  to  me,"  she  cried,  suddenly,  and  then  ran 
off  with  the  baby,  slamming  the  door  behind  her.  Tom 
resumed  that  irritating  whistling,  and  I  began  to  fairly 
hurl  my  belongings  into  my  trunk.  As  a  consequence, 
the  lid  wouldn't  shut,  and  he  rudely  refused  to  sit  on  it, 
to  force  it  down.  I  fixed  it,  finally,  and  got  my  shawl 
out  of  the  cupboard,  and  then  in  she  came,  radiant  and 
smiling,  the  baby  crowing  and  dancing  in  her  arms.  I 
turned  my  head  away. 

"  Do  take  him,  Ann,"  piteously,  "  oh,  I  did  not  mean 
to  be  ugly,  please,  please,  forgive  me.  You  shall  have 
half  of  him,  only  love  me  like  you  used  to;  if  you  go 
away,  it  will  break  my  heart." 

I  never  could  resist  her,  and  so,  poor,  meek,  old  soul 
that  I  was,  I  sat  down  on  my  trunk,  and  took  the  baby 
— I  will  say  he  was  mighty  eager  to  come  to  me — and 
he  crowed  and  pulled  at  my  curls,  and  Tom  took  my 
bonnet  and  laid  it  on  the  bureau,  lit  a  cigar,  offering  it 
to  both  of  us,  to  smoke  for  a  pipe  of  peace,  and  then 
hugged  his  wife. 


260  BABE  MURPHY. 

"  You  act  like  a  person  of  sense  now,"  he  said,  gra- 
ciously, giving  her  that  sweetest  look  of  his.  "Let 
Wilder  have  Neil,  we  may  have  plenty  more." 

UI  am  ashamed  of  you,"  I  said,  but  they  both  ran 
out,  and  left  me,  and  I  heard  her  racing  down-stairs 
with  him  like  a  girl  again,  and  ordering  Drinda  to  get 
up  a  fine  dinner,  the  best  she  knew  how. 

That  night  Mrs.  Ballinger  trailed  into  my  room  with 
a  white  lump  of  humanity  in  her  arms,  and  in  a  gust  of 
generosity  and  forgiveness,  laid  little  Neil  in  my  bed. 

"  He  can  sleep  with  you  till  he  cries,"  she  said,  ur- 
banely, and  pleased  with  that  sop,  I  fell  asleep,  as  happy 
as  a  lamb. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A   FALSEHOOD    FOR   LOVE. 

The  following  June,  Mrs.  Ballinger,  Baby  and  I 
started  East.  We  were  accompanied  by  divers  trunks, 
filled  with  finery,  and  by  Drinda,  resplendent  in  fine 
calico,  with  lace-trimmed  aprons  and  a  lace  cap  on  her 
white  hair.  Mr.  Ballinger  was  to  come  shortly  after 
various  cattle  deals  had  been  consummated.  We  went 
direct  to  Old  Orchard  Beach,  much  to  my  disgust,  for 
I  wanted  to  splurge  at  Mt.  Desert. 

"Oh,  you  vanity,"  laughed  Mrs.  Ballinger,  when  I 
told  her,  "but  I  have  an  object  in  coming  here,  it's 
very  stylish  too,  so  let  that  content  you,  and  isn't  the 
wide,  blue  sea  and  the  rolling  waves  on  the  sand  enough 
to  make  any  one  happy?  We  have  left  such  a  dry,  dry 
land,  that  just  to  breathe  the  salt  sea  air  puts  new  life  in 
one." 

It  certainly  did,  and  as  we  had  fine  rooms,  com- 
manding a  view  of  the  ocean  and  received  great  atten- 
tion, I  found  myself  quite  happy.  Mrs.  Ballinger  is  a 
very  handsome  woman,  and,  I  regret  to  say,  flirted  a 
little;  the  men  went  wild  over  her.  I  did  not  care  at 
all,  I  think  I  am  something  of  a  Pharisee,  I  would 
rather  go  about  my  business  than  bother  with  sick 
travelers  by  the  wayside;  Hike  a  quiet  life,  and,  I  may 
add,  his  mother's   galivanting  gave  me  more  of  Baby's 

261 


262  BABE  MURPHY. 

society.  Not  that  she  did  not  always  behave  perfectly 
proper,  she  is  a  pattern  woman,  but  she  did  not  act  the 
reclnse  because  Tom  was  absent.  I  trust  I  have 
smoothed  that  over  in  case  his  eye  ever  falls  on  it. 

How  times  had  changed  for  me,  here  was  I,  worth 
over  ten  thousand  dollars,  living  at  a  fine  hotel,  trail- 
ing in  black  silk  every  day  and  wearing  a  diamond  pin 
in  the  costly  lace  at  my  neck.  I  had  plumped  up  with 
prosperity  as  most  folks  do.  I  remember  a  girl  poet 
who  drifted  into  Southport  and  wrote  little  pieces  about 
the  sea  and  fishermen  and  was  sad  and  wistful,  like 
Cassius  having  "a,  lean  and  hungry  look ;"  she  went 
away,  hardly  having  money  enough  to  pay  her  board 
bill;  three  years  after  I  met  her,  and  then  she  w7as  a 
gracious  and  beautiful  woman,  a  success  herself,  advis- 
ing other  people  how  to  bear  their  trials. 

Mrs.  Ballinger,  Baby  and  I  took  a  run  down  to  South- 
port,  and  how  small  that  town  did  look  to  me;  it  seemed 
to  have  shrunk,  and  how  unchanged  the  folks  who  had 
not  been  junketing.  1  put  on  some  airs  maybe,  caught 
myself  saying,  with  a  queer  sense  that  I  was  an  old  goose 
and  they  knew  it,  that  I  wondered  how  I  existed  so  long 
in  such  an  isolated  place.  I  fancied  how  they  would  talk 
me  over  when  I  was  gone  and  say,  "la,  ain't  Lyd  Ann 
Wilder  set  up  sence  she  went  out  West,  she  furgits 
when  she  taught  our  youngones  and  was  glad  of  the 
chance,  and  Pve  known  her  when  she  was  a  bare-footed 
brat  driving  the  cows  home  from  pastur."  One  can 
never  outlive  those  recollections. 

Mrs.  Ballinger  was  never  tired  of  talking  about  the 


A  FALSEHOOD  FOR  LOVE.  263 

quaint  fishermen  and  the  town;  "It's  so  like  Corpus 
Christi,  where  Tom  and  I  were  so  happy,"  she  said 
once,  with  shining  eyes. 

"Hm,  Missus,"  says  I,  "it  seemed  to  me  at  Old 
Orchard  you  forget  there  was  a  Tom. 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  cross  old  thing?  "  with  a 
pout. 

"A  married  flirt  robbing  the  poor  girls  of  the  few 
male  creatures  found  at  a  seaside  hotel." 

"  A  man  is  a  great  deal  more  in  love  with  his  wife  if 
the  world  calls  her  charming,  as  you  should  know,  Madam 
Macchiavelli,  and  I  wanted  Tom  to  know  how  lovely  I 
am.  In  the  commonplace  ways  of  married  life  he 
might  forget  to  admire  me." 

"  Of  all  vain  women,"  I  gasped,  but  she  only  laughed 
and  went  out  to  sit  by  the  sea  with  a  dude  from  Boston, 
whose  only  charm,  I  found  afterwards,  was  that 
he  was  in  college  with  Tom.  I  remember  one  night 
after  we  returned  from  Southport,  that  Mrs.  Ballinger 
got  herself  up  in  fine  style;  I  saying  to  my  conscience, 
take  care,  my  lady,  you  may  go  too  far  when  you 
get  to  dressing  up  to  please  somebody.  She  is  a  mag- 
nificent woman,  matured  now,  and  no  longer  scraggy, 
her  eyes  are  brighter  than  ever,  .lie  has  a  faint  rose  tint 
in  her  cheeks,  and  all  her  pretty  ways  are  intensified  by 
our  happy  life.  I  think  she  had  on  a  soft  cream-colored 
gown  with  a  big  bunch  of  red  roses  on  her  breast,  her 
waist  open  at  the  throat,  showing  a  fair,  white  neck, 
with  no  collar  bones  to  speak  of.  I  watched  her  put- 
ting her  diamond  earrings  in,  in  grim  silence.     "What 


264  BABE  MURPHY. 

is  this  toilet  for?"  I  said,  severely.  "  One  would  think 
your  husband  was  coming." 

"You  mean  some  one  else's  husband.  Well  I  do 
expect  the  most  delightful  man,  and  you  shall  know 
him,  dear." 

"  I  will  not,  my  lady,  no  more  being  accessory  for 
me.  Go  your  flirtatious  ways  in  peace  and  leave  me 
out,  I  won't  be  inveigled  into  any  more  surreptitious 
junketings." 

"  Well,  only  come  down  on  the  porch  and  look  at 
him,  and  then  you  can  tell  Tom,  you  know,"  she 
dragged  me  away,  and,  unwillingly,  I  went,  too,  being 
tired  of  that  sort  of  thing. 

"There  he  is  now,"  she  cried,  a  happy  light  on  her 
face,  "a  soldier  sans penr  et  sans  reproche" 

There,  coming  toward  us,  a  smile  in  his  kind,  weary 
eyes,  was  our  Texas  Colonel,  with  his  stiff  and  military 
walk.  He  greeted  us  warmly,  inquired  after  Thomas, 
and  then  said,  remorsefully, 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Ballinger,  must  I  play  a  part  so  foreign 
to  my  nature,  is  there  no  other  way?" 

"  You  know  there  is  none,  and  this  is  so  plausible — 
so  easy.  Wilder,  my  dear  accessory,  the  Colonel  and  I 
are  in  a  deep  plot,  and  he  has  prepared  the  way  by 
dwelling  on  the  perfections  of  his  friend  Miss  Moore, 
a  young  Galveston  heiress,  to  Mrs.  Howard,  who  lives  in 
that  pretty  cottage  under  the  evergreens.  You  were 
admiring  it  the  other  day.  She  is  very  exclusive, 
knows  few  people  here,  and  has  been  ill  recently,  so  in 
no  possible   way  can  she   have   learned  Mrs.    Thomas 


A  FALSEHOOD  FOR  LOVE.  265 

Ballinger  is  registered  at  this  hotel.  I  intend  to 
become  a  single  woman  again  and  win  her  affections, 
as  the  Colonel  thinks  I  can,  and  you  are  to  take  care 
of  Neil,  a  position  that  will  delight  your  jealous  soul." 

"  I  fancy  what  it  will  be  to  your  jealous  soul,"  I  said, 
"but  I  accept  my  share  in  the  plot  with  joy,  and, 
seriously,  my  dear,  I  hope  the  Lord  will  bless  your 
errand,  and  bring  about  that  meeting  between  mother 
and  son  you  have  always  hoped  for." 

When  she  departed  with  the  Colonel  to  call  at  the 
cottage,  I  ran  up  to  my  room  after  Sir  Baby,  dressed 
him  in  his  very  best  frock,  and  paraded  up  and  down 
•  the  porch  with  him,  where  everybody  said  he  was  the 
handsomest  child  they  ever  saw.  I  felt  like  a  small 
sister  fallen  heir  to  a  big  sister's  doll.  What  rides  I 
took  him  in  our  hired  carriage,  Drinda  holding  him 
in  much  state,  what  walks  on  the  beach,  and  the  tricks 
I  taught  him.  He  thought  there  was  no  one  like 
"Nan,"  the  nearest  he  could  say  auntie,  and  would  cry 
to  come  to  me  from  his  mother;  so  had  time  revenged 
me.  But  Mrs.  Ballinger  did  not  care,  she  spent  all 
her  time  at  the  cottage,  and  talked  of  nothing  but 
lovely  Mrs.  Howard. 

"  She  said  to  me,"  said  Babe,  after  this  visiting  had 
been  going  on  for  a  fortnight,  "that  she  wished  her 
son  had  known  me,  and  that  she  would  be  the  happiest 
woman  in  the  world,  if  he  could  have  married  me." 

"fIs  he  married  unhappily  ?'  I  ventured,  s feeling 
how  much  I  would  give  to  tell  her  the  truth,  but  not 
daring  to  yet/ 


266  BABE  MVBPTTY. 

" '  I  do  not  know/  she  answered,  sadly,  '  but  very 
much  beneath  him,  and  such  marriages  can  not  be 
happy.  Until  this  moment,  I  have  not  mentioned  his 
name,  nor  allowed  it  to  be  mentioned  in  my  presence 
since  he  wrote  me  he  intended  marrying  a  person  named 
Murphy,  the  daughter  of  a  gambler.  I  am  not  so  angry 
as  I  was;  I  think  as  we  grow  old,  our  aversions  and 
hatreds  become  indistinct,  and  we  put  them  away  in 
the  past.  I  only  dread  now  the  shock  of  seeing  that 
person  or  her  children,  and  to  know  they  are  a  part  of 
our  family  that  the  world  recognizes.  We  have  had  a 
great  many  troubles  lately;  my  only  sister,  ten  years 
my  junior,  has  become  an  old  and  helpless  woman  from 
grief.  She  is  abroad  with  her  daughter;  a  very  sad  fate 
the  daughter  had,  not  fit  for  your  young  ears,  but  my 
sister  writes  me  Clara  is  very  kind,  and  her  own  nature 
has  grown  tolerant  and  forgiving.  She  realizes  she  may 
have  forced  Clara  into  a  life  that  led  to  such  a  tragedy, 
I  dread  even  to  think  of  it/  Just  think, "  cried 
Babe,  with  quivering  lips,  "how  I  could  sit  and  listen 
to  that,  knowing  that  tragedy,  oh,  so  terribly  well! 

"  '  The  person  my  son,  married/ continued  Mrs.  How- 
ard (she  is  such  a  stately,  lovely  lady,  Wilder),  'was 
the  daughter  of  a  man  instrumental  in  the  grief  and 
shame  that  came  upon  our  family,  and  that  itself 
would  forever  bar  her  from  my  doors.  It  is  too  horri- 
ble. Imagine,  too,  my  dear  Miss  Moore,  she  was  brought 
up  in  a  mining  camp,  had  no  education,  and  the  house- 
keeper, or  rather  the  wife  of  her  father's  partner,  was  a 
dreadful  woman,  the  kind  you  and  I  can  not  even  men- 
tion/ 


A  FALSEHOOD  FOR  LOVE.  267 

".OV  cried  Babe,  "I  felt  like  bursting  in  a  fit  of 
wild  laughter  at  the  mockery  of  it,  but  I  only  said, 
'  Mrs.  Howard,  do  you  not  think  the  good  is  in  the 
person,  not  in  the  surroundings?' 

"  '  I  fear  the  latter  hel]3  to  form  character;  my  own 
niece  was  a  sad  illustration  of  it.  She  was  brought  up 
in  a  railroad  town  in  the  West,  and  though  I  tried  my 
best  when  she  came  to  live  with  us,  to  elevate  her  to 
our  station,  and  teach  her  to  be  a  lady,  it  was  impossi- 
ble. She  was  hopelessly  common,  would  not  change 
her  ways  with  a  fatuous  vanity,  and  Thomas  insisted 
she  should  be  sent  home.  Her  mother  was  one  of  our 
housemaids,  and  my  brother's  life  was  wrecked  when  he 
married  her/" 

One  day  when  I  was  walking  on  the  beach,  Drinda 
wheeling  Baby,  I  saw  the  black  horses  of  Mrs.  Howard's 
fine  carriage  approaching,  and  as  Babe  and  I  had  agreed 
on  this  move,  I  stopped  until  they  came  up.  I  saw  Mrs. 
Howard  then,  for  the  first  time;  a  tall,  handsome 
woman,  with  those  brilliant,  brown  eyes,  Tom's  only 
good  feature,  and  a  high-bred  air  that  words  can  not 
do  justice  to.  She  was  dressed  in  mourning,  a  widow's 
veil  over  her  snow-white  hair.  Mrs.  Ballinger  was  with 
her  in  gorgeous  raiment,  as  usual,  this  time  I  think 
some  sort  of  a  figured  silk  in  soft  pink  and  blue  with  a 
wide  Gainsborough  hat. 

"  Mrs.  Jones,"  (the  first  time  I  was  ever  called  Mrs., 
the  saucy  thing)  said  Mrs.  Ballinger,  "  let  us  take  your 
grandchild  for  a  drive,  we  will  take  the  best  of  care  of 
him,  and  Mrs.  Howard  is  so  fond  of  babies." 


268  BABE  MURPHY. 

"What  a  beautiful  child?"  said  Mrs.  Howard,  bow- 
ing to  me.  "I  should  be  delighted  to  take  him,  the  dear 
little  thing,  see  he  wants  to  come.  My  only  child  was 
a  boy,  and  I  have  always  loved  boy  babies  best." 

Mrs.  Ballinger  lifted  Neil  into  the  carriage  in  a  real 
handy  way  for  a  supposed  single  woman,  and  away  they 
went,  Neil  tickled  to  death  at  seeing  new  people  and 
his  mother's  pretty  gown. 

After  that  they  frequently  borrowed  the  baby,  once  I 
remember  Mrs.  Howard  asked  me  how  his  mother  could 
be  parted  from  such  a  darling,  and,  with  a  meaning 
look  at  Babe's  laughing  eyes,  I  said,  solemnly,  "She's 
quite  an  invalid,  ma'am,"  finding  myself  a  ready  liar 
when  occasion  warranted.  One  evening,  not  long  after 
that,  I  was  driving  by  the  cottage,  and  Mrs.  Howard 
insisted  I  should  come  in,  the  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Ballin- 
ger were  on  the  porch,  and  the  latter  gave  me  a  look  to 
come,  which  I  did,  making  myself  comfortable  in  a 
rocking  chair.  Our  poor  Colonel,  he  was  nearly  dis- 
tracted in  his  attempts  to  keep  the  names  right  and  to 
avoid  Miss  Wilder  or  Mrs.  Ballinger,  or  any  references 
to  Colorado. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said,  abruptly,  after  a  desultory  con- 
versation on  Boston  and  culture  that  kept  us  in  beaten 
tracks,  and  avoided  dangerous  topics,  "whether  there 
are  ever  cases  where  untruth  and  deceit  are  perfectly 
justifiable." 

"  You  a  lawyer,  and  say  that,"  smiled  Mrs.  Howard, 
"  but  you  were  always  so,  in  dear  Nelly's  lifetime  (his 
wife's,  who  had  been  a  schoolmate  of  Mrs.  Howard's). 


A  FALSEHOOD  FOR  LOVE.  269 

She  used  to  tell  me  of  your  struggles  will)  the  harm- 
less fibs  society  requires.  I  fear  I  have  erred  fre- 
quently against  the  truth;  sometimes  a  lie  is  kinder  far 
than  the  truth." 

"  I  hate  deceit,"  said  Mrs.  Ballinger,  blushing  furi- 
ously, "  but  if  a  falsehood  is  for  love,  to  win  forgive- 
ness, surely  it  might  be  forgiven." 

"I  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Howard,  looking  affection- 
ately on  that  lovely  face,  with  its  eager  eyes  and  trem- 
ulous mouth,  "  one  might  forgive  a  great  many  wrong 
stories  from  you,  my  dear." 

"  Mrs.  Howard,"  she  cried,  quickly,  the  roses  on  her 
breast  quivering  with  the  wild  throbbing  of  her  heart, 
"  will  you  listen  to  me,  then,  and  let  me  tell  the  truth 
that  has  been  on  my  lips  so  long?"  She  went  swiftly 
to  the  elder  woman,  knelt  down  in  that  loving  way  of 
hers,  and  holding  Mrs.  Howard's  hand  tight,  began  the 
story  of  a  girl's  life  with  all  its  shadows  and  weary  days. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

PATHS   OF   PEACE. 

The  Colonel,  very  pale  and  nervous,  gave  her  a  reas- 
suring smile.  I  held  little  Neil,  who  crowed  and  pulled 
at  my  curls,  and  rippled  into  baby  laughter.  Before 
us  lay  the  shining  sea,  and  the  soft  plash  of  waves 
chimed  with  my  dear  girl's  voice.  With  infinite  pathos 
she  told  the  story  of  her  childhood,  the  struggles  of  her 
girlhood,  and  all  that  strange  history  that  led  up  to  a 
noble  womanhood.  Only  once  did  the  lips  of  the  elder 
woman  speak.  " Whose  cause  are  you  pleading?"  she 
asked  hoarsely,  and  Mrs.  Ballinger  cried  piteously: 
"Oh,  listen  in  patience,  let  me  have  courage  to  go  on 
to  the  end!" 

With  great  delicacy  and  sweetness  she  told  the  story 
of  her  temptation,  of  Tom's  departure,  her  heart-break, 
and  then  of  the  murder  up  there  in  the  awful  shadow 
of  the  mountains,  and  that  poor  man's  sad,  blighted 
life.  Then  of  our  flight  and  Con  Murphy's  death,  then 
on  to  happier  days,  her  meeting  with  her  dear  love, 
their  wedding,  and,  at  last,  of  the  child  born  to  them, 
and  how  at  that  time  both  their  hearts  ached  for  Mrs. 
Howard,  and  longed  more  than  ever  before  for  her  for- 
giveness and  love.  She  spoke  of  my  friendship  for  her 
that  had  made  her  life  pure  and  good,  and  oh,  rated 
me  far  higher  than  I  ever  deserved.     I  hid  my  face 

270 


PATHS  OF  PEA^ 

behind  Ba  iriy  head,  and  knew  my  eyes  were  dim. 

The  Colonel  coughed  once  or  twice,  and  drummed 
noiselessly  on  the  arm  of  his  chair  with  his  trembling 
fingers.  When  she  finished,  and  a  hush  fell  on  us  all, 
little  Neil,  the  only  unmoved  person,  he  looking  at  us 
:i  innocent,  happy  Byes,  I  saw  my  dear  girl's  head 
droop  as  if  she  dared  not  look  in  that  stern  face  above 
her,  and  then  I  saw,  more  beautiful  than  any  diamond, 
;  :  :/  from  Mrs.  Howards  eyes  down  on  my  dar- 
ling's dark  hair. 

"And  then,"  cried  Mrs.  BaUinger^  rokenly,  "I 
persuaded  that  high-minded,  noble  gentleman  to  aid 
me  in  deceiving  yon,  to  let  me  know  you  when  you 
could  like  me  without  prejudice.  Yon  are  my  dear 
husband's  mother,  he  lay  in  your  arms  as  my  baby  lies 
in  mine — my  baby  that  has  your  beautiful  eyes.  Had 
f  ou  been  asked  when  your  baby  lay  helpless  in  your 
young  arms,  tcrcast  him  from  you,  to  refuse  ever  to  see 
his  dear  face,  would  you  have  done  it?  could  you?  Oh, 
it  is  woman's  duty  to  forbear  and  to  forgive,  we  are  of 
finer  clay  that  can  be  moulded,  and  our  children  are  our 
very  life." 

Still  Mrs.  Howard  did  not  speak,  looking  down  on 
my  girl  with  white,  strange  faqe,  and  inscrutable  ex- 
pression* 

"  If  yon  will  not  listen  to  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Ballinger, 
"let  your  son's  child  plead  for  his  mother." 

She  laid  ]£eil  in  his  grandmother's  lap,  then  stood 
there  with  heaving  bosom  and  tearful  eyes,  waiting  the 
verdict. 


372  BABE  M U It P IIY. 

"My  dear,  dear  child,"  said  the  stately  lady,  a  very 
tearful,  womanly  creature,  after  all,  "1  can  not  realize 
it.  I  only  see  my  cruelty,  my  injustice.  I  only  know 
I  loved  you  before,  and  now  I  care  for  you  more  than 
I  could  believe  possible.  You  beautiful,  winsome 
creature,  ah!  Colonel,  she  was  worthy  the  sacrifice  of 
your  truth — you  flower  of  chivalry  and  courtesy;  to  her 
noble  womanhood  all  aid  must  be  given,  and  you 
acted  the  honorable,  high-minded  gentleman  you  have 
always  been.  In  this  kindly  way  you  have  opened  the 
eyes  of  a  bad-hearted  old  woman  to  her  blindness,  her 
sin;  you  have  made  me  see  myself,  and  hate  myself. 
Oh!  my  daughter,  kiss  me  again!  let  us  be  friends,  and 
tell  me  you  can  forgive,  as  a  woman  like  you  can 
without  thought  of  the  past,  with  loving  joy  in  the 
present.  And  my  son's  baby  in  these  poor  arms,  close 
to  this  poor  heart,  starved  for  love  so  long!  Can  it  be 
real?  be  possible?  " 

She  was  almost  in  hysterics,  as  near  as  people  of  that 
nature  could  get,  so  I  fetched  her  smelling  bottle  out, 
and  took  the  Colonel  away,  knowing  Mrs.  Ballinger  and 
baby  could  bring  her  to  calmness  best.  I  saw  as  we 
went  down  the  steps,  that  the  young  wife  was  still 
kneeling  by  Mrs.  Howard,  and  Neil  lay  in  his  grand- 
mother's lap,  pulling  at  her  watchchain,  crowing  Avith 
delight  as  she  bent  over  him,  doing  more  with  his 
baby  dimpled  hands  to  bring  those  two  women  into 
love  and  happiness  than  all  the  wise  counsellors  in  the 
world. 

"  I  have  perverted  the  truth,"  said  the  Colonel,  offer- 
ing me  his  arm  with  stately  courtesy. 


PATHS  Or  PEACE.  273 

"In  a  good  cause,  Colonel." 

"Indeed,  yes;  I  do  not  regret  it,  nor  ever  will." 

"  Certainly  not,"  I  said,  promptly,  "the  end  justifies 
the  means." 

"  Hardly,  in  most  cases,  I  think,  especially  politics. 
How  unfair  and  ungenerous  are  the  methods  employed 
in  elections  now!  I  would  not  accept  the  highest  office 
offered  me  in  the  land  to-day,  if  to  reach  it  I  must  wade 
in  the  mire  of  ill-natured  comment,  absolute  slander  and 
untruth  that  surrounds  every  candidate.  Nor  could  I 
exist,  in  the  most  exalted  position  were  I  constantly 
denounced  and  cried  down  as  most  officials  of  the  pub- 
lic service  are.  The  wise  men  to-day  keep  away  from 
the  political  arena." 

"  When  he  should  be  a  Hercules  sweeping  out  those 
stables  I  never  can  remember  the  name  of.  He  ought 
to  be  fighting  for  protection  of  everything  American, 
honest  wages  and  labor,  honest  men  in  office  and  the 
old  spirit  of  '76,  tliat  the  world  has  not  improved  on 
yet.  When  the  world  can  write  a  better  Declaration  of 
Independence  than  this  country  has,  and  has  lived  up 
to,  America  will  be  no  more." 

"  You  are  quite  eloquent,  Miss  Wilder,  but  you  and 
I  can  never  agree  on  protection;  we  Texans  want  free 
trade." 

"  Because,"  I  said,  viciously,  "you  are  all  too  lan- 
guid down  there  in  that  beautiful  climate  to  work;  you 
need  Northern  grit,  that  goes  with  a  cold  country;  you 
want  to  buy  cheap  someone  else's  work,  and  get  appro- 
priations for  deep-water  harbors,  for  ships  to  bring 
those  goods  right  to  your  doors." 


274  BABE  MUBPITY. 

"  I  never  can  argue  with  a  lady/'  he  said,  irritatingly, 
but  so  dreadful  polite  I  was  silenced,  "but  that  person 
coming  has  a  familiar  look — perhaps  your  eyes  are  bet- 
ter than  mine." 

'•In  this  case,  yes,  for  I  expected  him.  I  had  a  little 
plot  of  my  own,  and  telegraphed  for  that  young  man." 

We  were  talking  of  Mr.  Ballinger,  who  was  coming 
rapidly  toward  us  with  that  springy  gait  of  his,  wear- 
ing a  light  summer  suit,  and  the  sombrero  he  affected 
to  give  him  the  look  of  a  cowboy,  though  perhaps  I 
ought  to  say  ranchero. 

"Wilder/' he  says,  grasping  both  my  hands,  then 
turns  to  greet  the  Colonel.  I  see  he  is  looking  pale 
and  anxious. 

"Is  my  wife  well  and  the  baby?"  he  says,  nervously; 
"you  only  said,  '  Come  at  once/  I've  been  nearly  crazy 
about  them." 

"Go  see,"  1  said,  pointing  to  the  cottage,  for  he  never 
knew  his  mother  was  at  Old  Orchard,  at  all,  she  only 
having  bought  the  cottage  the  past  summer.  "  They 
are  both  well,"  I  called,  to  comfort  him,  "but  your 
wife  has  been  masquerading  as  a  single  woman." 

"How,  with  a  baby?"  he  turned  back  to  say. 

"Oh,  I  passed  Neil  off  as  mine,"  I  answered,  and  he 
went  on,  laughing  merrily,  and  the  Colonel  looked  a 
bit  shocked,  and  we  resume  our  conversation  on  the 
tariff,  which  we  know  as  little  about  as  anybody  else, 
and  which  is,  it  seems  to  me,  the  great  fifteen  puzzle  of 
the  nineteenth  century.  When  we  return  to  the  cot- 
tage we  find  Neil  asleep  on  his  grandmother's  lap,  and 


PATHS  OF  PEACE.  275 

Tom  and  his  wife  walking  up  and  down  with  their  arms 
about  each  other,  like  two  young  lovers,  as  they  have 
always  been.  We  had  a  happy  walk  to  the  hotel  later, 
after  a  pleasant  chat,  when  Mrs.  Howard  promised  to 
spend  the  winter  at  the  ranch,  seeming  delighted  at  the 
idea,  and  that  fall  we  were  to  stop  in  Boston  at  her 
house.  At  last  was  I  to  enter  the  charmed  precincts  of 
a  Beacon  street  mansion,  one  of  those  high,  narrow 
houses  I  had  looked  at  so  often,  wishing,  enviously,  my 
ancestors  had  come  over  in  the  Mayflower,  or  been  gov- 
ernors of  Massachusetts  or  modern  millionaires,  able  to 
buy  a  mansion,  portraits  and  pedigrees  from  some  ex- 
tinct family,  degenerating  as  "the  property  of  such  and 
such  estate."  Though  aristocracy  to  me  is  only  the 
gang  that  got  there  first — I  don't  mean  slang  at  all — or 
that  drove  out  the  other  people  as  William  the  Con- 
queror did,  and,  as  Con  used  to  say,  they  are  all  skele- 
tons, anyway.  Still  I  do  think,  looking  out  of  the  plate- 
glass  windows  of  a  Beacon  street  mansion,  my  counte- 
nance will  assume  a  look  of  pensive  pride,  as  if  I 
belonged  there. 

That  night,  Ballinger,  junior,  being  agreeably  weary, 
retired  early — he  occupies  a  crib  in  my  room  and  sleeps 
there,  unless,  when  she  retires,  his  mother  comes  to  take 
him  into  her  bed.  I  sit  up  a  bit  to  write  my  "  thorts,"  as 
my  brother  Bill  used  to  say,  when  he  told  the  neighbors, 
"Lyd  was  going  to  be  an  arthur,"  and  half  of  'em,  not 
understanding  his  pronunciation,  used  to  say,  "Wanter 
know,  and  is  she  cal'latin'  on  making  a  livin*  on't?  " 

Then  Mrs.  Ballinger  trailed  in,  in  her  white  lace  wrap- 


276  BABE  MURPHY. 

per,  very  lovely  and  rosy,  to  kiss  little  Neil,  and  to  say 
she  guessed  she  would  leave  him  in  his  crib,  he  was 
sleeping  so  sweetly,  and  I  must  be  sure  to  keep  the  cov- 
ers on  him,  he  did  kick  so.  Tom,  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
for  the  night  is  hot,  comes  in  and  looks  at  Babe,  fondly. 

"  The  sweetest  wife  in  the  world,  isn't  she,  Wilder, 
May  I  come  in,  you  are  a  Bohemian  and  you've  got  your 
dressing  sack  on,  and  I  have  always  wondered  if  you  did 
your  hair  up  in  paper  or  if  it  curled  'natural.*  I  am 
glad  to  see  it's  natural,  Di's  ain't,  she  has  curling  tongs, 
another  piece  of  deceit.  Oh,  I  forgot,  here  is  a  letter 
for  you,  from  Clara,  I  think." 

Mrs.  Ballinger,  who  has  been  kneeling  by  the  crib,  gets 
up  with  a  little  frown  on  her  bright  face.  I  take  the 
letter,  and  Tom  goes  to  his  wife  laying  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  "Are  you  going  to  be  a  narrow-hearted  woman, 
my  love?  "  he  says.  "Did  we  not  agree  to  think  that  men 
and  women  are  equal,  is  that  not  our  creed?  Can  you 
shut  your  heart  to  what  I  can  forgive?" 

"She  said  I  deceived  her," said  Babe,  uncomfortably. 

"  She  don't  here,  she  knows  now,"  I  said,  running  my 
eye  over  the  letter,  "  shall  I  read  it  ?" 

"Dear  old  strait-laced  Wilder,  (H'm,  flattering,  I  am 
sure)  you  precious,  old  saint  and  would-be-sinner, 
how  often  I  think  of  you.  You  had  soul  enough  for  a 
dozen  women.  Oh  me,  what  a  life  I  lead,  my  conscience 
ever  present  in  the  sad  face  of  my  mother,  her  fervor 
for  religion  and  her  prayers  for  my  guilty  soul.  Jones 
is  my  faithful  servant  yet,  I  dress  him  in  gorgeous  livery, 
for  I  am  very  swell  and  he  drives  my  ponies.    I  thought 


PA  THS  OF  PEA  CE.  277 

then,  of  that  white-faced  bay  Conused  to  ride,  I  hunted 
him  up  in  Denver  and  kind  people  own  him,  much,  much 
more  respectable  folks  than  he  ever  knew  in  his  horse 
life.  I  have  considerable  company,  the  men  agreeable, 
the  women  shady.  I  am  out  of  the  pale  of  good  society 
and  good  women.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  thankful 
that  anyone  comes.  Still  I  do  think  I  find  the  men 
more  witty  and  entertaining,  than  those  do  who  make 
the  home  life,  for  most  men  keep  their  dull-wittedness 
and  ill  tempers  for  their  wives.  I  am  good,  Wilder, 
dear,  if  I  do  talk  like  a  wretch.  I  never  cared  but  for 
one  man,  I  lost  all  for  him — and  he  is  dead. 

"I  mourn  in  a  queer  way  though,  with  gayeties 
and  '  junketings/  as  you  used  to  say.  Fve  taught  the 
men  (most  of  them  knew)  poker,  and  I  win  from  their 
dull,  English  brains,  and  their  pocket-books,  but  I  will 
say  they  are  never  cads.  Like  Con,  they  can  lose 
'big  money '  and  look  calm  and  quiet,  perhaps  a  white 
line  about  the  mouth  —  or  nothing  of  the  sort. 
I  have  camped  in  London  for  a  time,  weary  of  traveling. 
I  have  gambled  at  Monaco,  flirted  with  a  Russian  prince  in 
his  own  land,  and,  dear  me,  princes  are  as  common  there 
as  colonels  in  Texas,  and  not  half  so  nice.  I  have  done 
Europe  and  climbed  the  Alps,  and  am  going  up  the  Nile 
this  winter.  My  mother,  who  makes  life  a  penitential  pil- 
grimage like  those  duffers  who  wore  hair-shirts  and  visited 
holy  pools  (was  going  to  make  a  joke,  but  won't  on  poor 
ma),  accompanies  me.  I  think  she  enjoys  the  beautiful 
scenes  we  visit,  and  the  luxury  of  our  life,  but  she  would 
never  tell  me  so.     Jones  has  married  a  pretty  mulatto 


278  BABE  MURPHY. 

girl,  who  came  over  in  the  steamer  with  us.  She  was 
maid  to  an  actress,  and  often  asks  me  why  I  don't  go  on 
the  stage.  I  have  played  one  star  part  in  a  tragedy,  and 
that  is  enough,  and  I  could  not  start  with  a  scandal  par- 
ticularly new,  or  a  divorce.  Sometimes  I  think  of  that 
poor  man,  whose  life  I  ruined,  and  I  am  sorry;  and  the 
few  times  in  my  wanderings  I  have  been  near  death,  I 
thought  of  him  with  terror,  and  that  my  hand  took 
from  him  that  dear  life  we  cling  to  at  the  end. 

"  I  am  not  well,  as  health  goes,  very  thin  and  feverish, 
and  soon,  I  think,  I  shall  come  home  in  a  narrow  box, 
shunned  by  sailors  when  they  see  me  aboard,  and  the 
terror  of  that  poor  wretch  penned  up  with  me  in  the 
baggage  car.  I  shall  lie  beside  my  love  in  the  sandy 
land  by  the  sea,  for  Tom  has  promised  that,  and  I 
believe  he  will  respect  my  wishes.  I  would  not  trust 
my  mother,  for  she  would  twist  my  last  wish  into  a 
sin. 

"  Martin  wrote  me  about  Babe's  coming  to  her  own, 
and  knowing  all  the  circumstances  now,  I  see  I  was 
cruelly  wrong  in  hating  her  and  thinking  she  made  the 
price  of  her  warning  half  my  husband's  fortune.  Now 
I  know  fate  led  me  on.  Tom  wrote  me  she  laid  her 
bridal  bouquet,  her  dearest  gift,  on  her  father's  grave, 
going  there  on  her  wedding  night.  I  know  she  has 
forgiven  him,  then  let  her  think  as  kindly  of  me. 
Because  I  am  a  woman  and  loved,  must  I  be  blamed 
the  most?  Oh,  pure,  noble-souled  woman,  oh,  jas- 
mine of  gifts,  take  from  my  sinful  lips  an  eager  prayer 
for  your  happiness,  and  for  your  forgiveness.     If  some- 


PA THS  OF  PEA CE.  279 

time  a  daughter  lies  in  your  young  arms,  resolve  then 
to  be  fair  and  kind  to  her,  to  bring  her  up  to  your 
goodness,  or  if  she  go  astray,  to  forgive  and  shield  her. 
The  world  is  not  just,  nor  fair,  to  make  us  women  and 
give  us  women's  hearts,  and  then  ask  so  much,  so  much 
more  than  it  does  of  men. 

"  Tell  this  to  her,  Wilder,  or  read  her  my  letter,  and 
tell  dear  Tom  I  am  glad  he  is  happy  in  the  good,  hon- 
est, old-fashioned  way.  And  good-bye  to  you,  Wilder, 
you  honest  old  maid,  you  cup  of  cold  water  that  I  have 
never  seen  equaled.  The  people,  I  know  now,  are  only 
skeletons — poor  Con's  skeletons  to  me.  Strip  off  your 
flesh,  my  stately  lady,  my  bloated  prince,  my  matronly, 
old  dowager,  with  your  red,  English  face,  and  your 
brood,  your  bones  are  no  different  from  mine.  Back 
to  the  earth  to  rot,  who  shall  know  you  from  me.  Is 
dust  any  better  in  Westminster,  or  the  potter's  field? 
So  I  think,  and  wish  my  life  away,  nor  care  how  low 
the  world  holds  me,  for  I  never  can  rise  to  better  things 
here.  I  only  know  my  heart  will  not  die  till  it  meets 
his.  Pray  for  me,  in  your  good,  old-fashioned  prayers, 
in  your  skimpy  night-gown,  trimmed  with  tatting,  with 
your  queer,  little  curls  over  your  shoulders;  some  day 
we  will  meet  out  of  the  skeleton  stage,  and,  till  then, 
farewell.  Clara." 

"Poor  soul,"  I  say,  with  quivering  lips,  "Poor, 
lonely  creature." 

"  We  have  been  blessed,"  says  my  dear  girl,  solemnly, 
looking  down  on  her  sleeping  child,  "and  knowing 
this  and  all  that   past,  my  heart  does  ache  for  her, 


280  BABE  MURPHY. 

none  the  less,  because  I  pity  that  poor,  wronged  husband, 
or  my  dead  father.  We  can  not  condemn  now,  it  is  too 
late,  we  can  only  say  forgive.  When  you  write  to  her, 
tell  her  if  ever  my  home  can  be  a  refuge  to  her,  a  place 
for  her  to  lay  her  weary  head,  to  be  sheltered  from  the 
world,  my  doors  are  open  to  her." 

"My  love,  my  life,"  cried  her  husband,  passionately, 
"my  noblest  among  all  your  sex,  a  good  woman  who 
can  forgive." 

And  then,  forgetful  of  all,  but  .he  dear  love  they  bore 
each  other,  they  went  away  and  left  me.  I  looked 
across  to  see  if  baby  were  sleeping  comfortably,  stooped 
to  kiss  his  dimpled  hand,  and  then  return  to  close  my 
book,  glad  at  heart,  that  "all  our  ways  are  ways  of 
pleasantness  and  all  our  paths  are  peace." 


THE   END 


BOOKS  BY  GREAT  WESTERN  WRITERS. 


BY 

Joaquin  Miller 

AUTHOR  OF 

"  Songs  of  the'  Sierras  " 

"Songs  of  Far-Away  Lands" 

etc. 

BY 

Joaquin  Miller 

AUTHOR  OF- 

"  Songs  of  the  Sierras  " 

"Songs  of  Far-Away  Lands" 

etc. 

BY 

Patience  Stapleton 

AUTHOR  OF 
"Kady" 


BY 


Patience  Stapleton 

AUTHOR  OF 
"Babe  Murphy" 


BY 

Peck— Nye— Quad 


BY 

,  James  Steele 


MY  OWN  STORY— Illustrated  by  True  .. 
Williams.     i2rao,  Cloth,  Gold  and  Black;  $1.06. 
Lithograph  Paper  Cover,  50c. . 

"  The  story  of  Joaquin  Miller's  wonderfully  ro- 

'mantic  and  thrilling  life  among  the  Modoc  Indians, 

with  realistic  incidents  of  life  in  the  Far  West  during 

the  days  of  the  40/ersand  graphic  descriptions,  of  the 

sublime  scenery  of  the  Rocky  Mountains." 

THE  DANITES   IN  THE  SIERRAS— 

1 2mo,  Lithograph  Paper  Cover,  50c. 

The  book  that  gave  birth  to  the  familiar  phrase 
'•'  The  glorious  climate  of  California,"  gave  Mormon-  . 
ism  its  death  blow  and  swept  "  The  Danites"  as  an 
organized  body  from  the  earth.     The  most  powerful . 
story  of  California  life  ever  written. 

BABE  MURPHY—  12mo,Cl.oth','Gold  and  : 
Black,  $1.00.     Lithograph  Paper  Cover,  50c.  . 
Beyond  all  question  one  of  the  brightest  novels 
that   has  been  published  for  years.     The. reader  is  . 
kept  spell-bound  from  the  first,  page  to.  the  last. 

KADY— 12mo,  Cloth,  $1.00.  Lithograph 
Paper  Cover,  50c. 

"A  book  whose  reading  will  make  another  work  frornthe 
same  pen  eagerly  sought  for." — Tt'mes,  Chicago.         ' 

"  In  fine  delineation  of  characters,  for  vigorous  move- 
ment and  clear  telling  of  the  story,  'Kady'  isremar.kable."      \ 

■*— Chicago  Inter  Ocean*, 

"  There  is  a  breath  of  odorous  life  from  the  mountain  ,-i 
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'.'  'Kady'  is  a  bright  and  lively  Rocky  Mountain  ■story." •. 
The  action  and  speech  are  vigorous,  and  the  emotion- js  .i 
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"  Mrs.  Stapleton1s  methods  are  direcit  and  powerful:  She  I 
uses  her  material  with  ease  and  skill*"—  Chicago-  Tribune's  ■.[  . 

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OLD  CALIFORNIAN    DAYS.  —  II 

t rated    with  over  40  drawings  by  True  Williams 

12mo,  Cloth,  $1.00.     Paper  Cover,  50c. 

"He  .gives  a  sympathetic  and  graphic  picture  of  those 

features  of  California  which  yet  reveal  her   former  strange 

history,  and  contrasts  this  with  the  modern  days  and  ways 

with  the  skill  of  a  good  observer." — St.  Louis  Republic. 

41  His  pictures  of  life  in  California  during  the. dreamy 
centuries  of  the  Spanish  dominion,  and  his  sketches'  of  the 
stormy  episodes  attending  the  Argonaut  invasion  are  vivid 
and  artistic."— Indianapolis  Sentinel.  •  ■  • 

For  Sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent,  post- 
paid, on  receipt  of  price  by 

BELFORD-CLARKE  CO.,,  Publishers 

CHICAGO. 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUFORNIA  UBRARY 


